The Wrong Brother
by Seerwood
Summary: Carol finds herself volunteered to go on a supply run with Daryl and Rick, only problem is-Merle's coming too. What could possibly go wrong? Set at Season 3:11 (I ain't a Judas). And naturally, rated T for Dixon swears. Eventual AU- slow burn Marol.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or the Dixon brothers, sadly. **

_a/n: This story is set at Season 3:11 (I ain't a Judas). I have taken the liberty to moderately increase the time frame, to allow Team Grimes a few more days to recoup before the meeting with the Governor at the barn, while trying to keep the main plot as near to canon as I possibly can._

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><p>...<p>

**The Wrong Brother**

Carol had been greatly surprised to hear that Merle had been allowed to go on a supply run. She had asked to go, on Hershel's whispered insistence-he had wanted her to try to keep an eye on the men, and Rick amazingly had agreed. Carol could only guess that Hershel wanted to try to give the group some sort of reprieve from Merle. The last few days, the atmosphere at the prison had been extremely fraught, tensions were running sky high since the Woodbury incident. Tempers might cool a degree, if Merle was off the scene for a while.

The night before, she had been cooking for the group, lost in thought and not overly paying attention to what was being said, until she had heard Merle pipe up suddenly, "My my my, ain't you a lil cutie, what's your name sweetums?"

Curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she'd peeked around the corner, spying Beth sat on the steps with the baby.

"Her name is Judith," Beth said, cradling the baby on her lap.

"Wasn't talkin' 'bout the babe," Merle leered, obviously enjoying the way her eyes had widened in surprise. "Ah, Officer Friendly."

Carol had dropped the spoon in her hand with a clatter, rushing across to the young girl just as Rick strode in with Daryl.

"I see the babe has her father's good looks," Merle said laughing, staring at Rick, "Shame I hear he's dead."

"Shut it Merle," Daryl warned, glancing at the former sheriff.

"Meh," Merle said sourly, "See our friendly local neighbourhood officer has your balls tightly rammed in his pocket, baby brother. Say Daryl? When did ya become his bitch?"

"I ain't nobody's bitch," Daryl spat.

"Could'a fooled me."

"Merle? Could I have word?" Carol had interceded then, hurriedly taking a plate of food across to the man in the cell.

And so, it had seemed then, at that moment...an ideal situation for Merle to be away from the group, from the prison, and Carol wondered just how crazy she must have been to actually to agree with Hershel. Although lately her days seemed to consist of laundry, caring for the tiny baby, cooking and seemingly never ending guard tower duty. Maybe being away from the prison would do her some good too. Especially after Axel's and T-Dog's shocking deaths, her time spent in the tombs...she had tried so hard not to think about it, _any of it_, the way that T-Dog had sacrificed himself for her...the way her heart had broken as she had watched her friend fall under the weight of the walkers that had surged at them both... the hateful claustrophobia, the dense darkness, the heavy fetid stench of death...

So when Rick had announced suddenly to all of the group that he was going on a run, (which was a rarity in itself), and that he was taking Merle of all people with him, she had _wanted_ to go, and of course, and if Merle was going, so was Daryl. Hell would have to freeze over if Daryl wasn't going to go anywhere where his brother was included, and not himself. She didn't really care for Merle, she only too well remembered the hot headed redneck at the quarry, remembered that half of the time the man had been high on drugs, was foul mouthed and foul tempered, and not for the first time, she wondered how he and Daryl could possibly be related. She was curious. That was part of the reason why she wanted to tag along, what with Hershel's insistence and of course, the other reason she had wanted to go was obviously Daryl.

Hershel had recently bemoaned the lack of fresh medicines, the small amount that Carl had found, and the amount in his own bag were dwindling rapidly what with injuries sustained by the group, his own recent disability included. And even though they took out most of the walkers with hand weapons-knives, daggers, anything that could be thrust through a rotten pulpy undead head...ammunition for the pistols and rifles were quickly being exhausted.

Merle's insistent scathing warnings of the Governor preparing for a retaliatory attack were naturally being taken very seriously. He _had_ been party to the Governor...inside man and all of that. But even so, Carol couldn't help but wonder what exactly Merle's game was. Could be that it is was only out of sheer concern for his brother, knowing now all to well that Daryl wouldn't abandon their group again-she still didn't know exactly what had happened between them after Daryl had found Merle at Woodbury, but she thought it was more than that. Knowing what she did of him, it had to be. Merle never seemed to do anything unless something was in it for himself.

Sighing, and not really knowing-anticipation, frustration and curiosity boiling within herself, she sat on the bed in her cell, pulling her boots on. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her worn jacket, slipped it on, stooping to grab her backpack quickly. Her knife was sheathed at her waist, she always wore it. It didn't pay to let your guard down, even for a second. Reaching up to the top bunk of her bed, she grabbed her pistol, slipping it quickly into the waistband of her navy blue pants. Her fingers had grazed across the small paperback laying there next to her gun, and Carol smiled sadly, remembering that Maggie had given her the book some time ago, with a knowing smile and wink, some silly romance novel that Carol never had the time or inclination to really be bothered to read. But not wanting to hurt the younger woman's feelings, she had graciously taken the book.

And now both Glenn and Maggie were hurting, even though Maggie fought so hard to try to hide it from everyone else. Merle had a lot to answer for. Carol felt the smile slide from her face.

Slinging the backpack across one shoulder, she stalked her way through the prison. Impatience to be away gnawed at her, and walking determinedly, she stepped through the heavy prison door and out into the courtyard, eyes squinting against the sudden beams of sunshine that assaulted her senses.

Rick was already there waiting, offering her a small tight smile as she strode across to the Hyundai. Carl waited at the gates, ready to open them to allow them out, and she saw a sickly worried cast to his face. She raised one hand and waved to him, smiling reassuringly as she did so. She thought she saw him briefly smile back, head bobbing up in the sheriffs hat he wore, his one hand lifting up quickly, returning her greeting.

Daryl wasn't there yet and she tried to ignore the way her heart thumped quickly in her chest at the thought of him.

Carol stood with her hand resting on the back door of the car, glancing quickly up at Merle as he stood there leaning lazily against the trunk of the car, watching her through half lidded eyes. He noticed her observing him, and slowly peeked the tip of his tongue out, running it lasciviously across his upper lip. She narrowed her eyes at him in disgust, seeing the way his eyes crinkled humorously, the sardonic smirk painted across his lips, the way he slowly looked her up and down. She felt herself flush, and hated herself for it.

"Hey little brother! Was wonderin' when you was gonna show ya pretty face," Merle grinned as Daryl stomped heavily towards them.

"Merle," Daryl grunted in reply, his eyes swiftly moving from his brother to her. He shifted the crossbow on his back, one hand tugging at the straps. His other hand held his battered backpack loosely. He nodded at her briefly, but his eyes hesitated over hers for a split second longer, and she felt herself smiling at him, nodding back at him in an unspoken greeting.

"Carol here said she's _more_ than happy to share the back seat with me," Merle said. "I dunno how that's gonna ride with Sheriff Rick there...say _Darlina_, ya reckon he gonna cramp ma style?"

Carol gaped, "I said no such thing..."

"Shut it Merle," Daryl grimaced, "She ain't gettin' in no backseat with ya."

"Ain't that a shame," Merle sighed, opening the car's door and climbing in.

Carol stepped to the front of the car, pausing as Daryl stood next her. His head was facing downwards, his boots scuffing the ground, and glancing up, his eyes smoldered at her through the tangled curtains of his hair, a sudden flash of intense blue, then swiftly removing his crossbow, he climbed into the car beside his brother.

For a second, Carol just hung onto the door, her knees feeling weak, and she felt mildly alarmed at the effect that just that one simple look from Daryl gave her. Although, when it came down to Daryl, nothing was _ever_ really that simple. Raising her eyes to the sky, she breathed a silent shaky sigh, and climbed into the car next to Rick.

...


	2. Chapter 2

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. ****Sadly.****

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Carol had her cheek resting against the coolness of the Hyundai's partly opened window, savouring the cool air circulating through the car. No-one had spoken for the last few miles, and that was something she was only too thankful for. She was glad not to hear the steady rumble of Merle's voice from behind her seat. He had been vocal for the first few miles, despite repeated warnings and elbow nudging from Daryl. Eventually he had given up and fallen silent when he finally realised that he didn't have his captive audiences full attention.

Rick pulled the car into a small cul-de-sac, parking at the side of an over grown grass verge. Carol had to stifle the smile as she heard one of the back doors of the car swing open, the clomp of boots hitting tarmac, and she knew only to well that it would have to be Daryl first out of the car. She took a peek, and nodded to herself. He was already tugging the crossbow off his back, his eyes partly concealed by his unruly fringe of hair, but she knew that he was warily watching as Merle clambered out. Clutching her backpack out of the well in the car, she climbed out herself.

"We'll split into pairs," Rick said closing his door, shielding his eyes against the sun as he squinted at the row of small shops that lined the street.

"Do you think that's wise Rick?" Carol glanced hesitantly at Daryl and Merle. She cast her eyes to the road, glancing back to the small square of shops. So far she couldn't see any walkers.

"We ain't splitting up, no way man." Daryl shifted the crossbow in his arms, scuffing at the ground with the toe of his boot.

Rick gestured with one hand towards the buildings, "Look we get in, we get out, it'll be quicker if we split up. I'll take Merle with-"

"Like shit ye will! No offense _Officer Friendly_, but last time you cost me my goddamned fuckin' hand," Merle hissed angrily, brandishing his prosthetic limb.

"I went back for you Merle, _we_ went back for you," Rick said wearily, "How many times do I have to say that it was a mistake? A mistake that we _tried_ to make right? You had _gone_."

"Yeah, yeah..you an' that big ole Spear-Chucker both. An' I bet you can't sleep at night with all them boo-hoo tears you shed. Might even believe it when I see those damn pigs flying."

"We did Merle, and you wasn't there, just ya damned hand. Just quit it bro', it ain't getting' us nowhere," Daryl glowered.

Merle looked at Daryl, his eyes narrowing angrily, "Quit being his lil bitch, baby brother."

Carol looked at Rick, feeling a sudden pang for the man as he glanced at her, indecision written in his eyes. He raised one hand, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. She knew then, that he was worried that Merle might just try to take off with Daryl, leaving them all over again, although when Daryl had shown back at the prison gates, him and Merle _both_ saving Rick from the walkers massing there, that that had pretty much decided Daryl's loyalties. She didn't really know _how_ she knew, but she just had a feeling that Daryl wouldn't be in such a rush to ditch their group. She also realised that Rick was putting a lot of faith in Daryl by bringing him and his wayward brother on this run.

And as much as she hated saying it, and knowing she couldn't stop the words from venturing out of her mouth, she said quietly, "Alright. I'll go with Merle."

Rick glanced at her, blue eyes scrutinizing her closely, then he nodded at her imperceptibly, "Thank you." Unsheathing the knife at his waist, he said to the others, "Now we know what we are here for, ammunition- whatever we can find, food and any medicinal supplies, and we need stuff... for Judith. Formula, diapers, whatever we can find and carry." Giving another small tight smile he said, "Let's go."

Carol took the knife from her belt, grasping it firmly in one hand. She glanced up as Daryl moved towards her. His eyes darted towards where Merle was stood impatiently, sighing under his breath. His hand reached out towards her, and she wondered then if he would actually touch her, but then his hand palmed fresh air as it fell just short of her, returning to the safety of his crossbow. As if he was suddenly embarrassed by his action, he murmured so softly that she hardly heard him. "Stay safe. 'n watch out that jackass brother of mine."

"You too, stay safe Daryl," she replied, giving him a small half smile. She noticed Merle observing them, his brow creasing into angry squiggly lines.

"C'mon ya buncha fuckin' pussies," Merle spat, striding from them. "Darlina?" He stopped briefly, calling over his shoulder. "Go an' hold the good sheriffs hand. I'll take the mouse with me. Reckon she might just have bigger balls than the lot of you put together."

Carol rolled her eyes, silently cursing Hershel. She watched as Rick moved off with Daryl in tow, wishing that she could have traded places with Rick. Merle unsettled her, made her feel anxious. He was unpredictable and a hot head. She had grown to know Daryl over time, could almost anticipate his actions now...Merle from what she had seen and known, confounded her the best of the times.

"You just gonna stand there an' murmur sweet nothin's to my baby bro, or ya gonna move yer feet an' get this done?" Merle hissed quickly at her ear. She gasped a little, standing back and frowning at him. She hadn't even noticed him invading her personal space. While Daryl had many issues-he would still flinch even now if she so much as touched him on the arm, it appeared that Merle didn't have any of those insecurities that affected his younger brother.

He smirked, smoky blue eyes narrowing as he inclined his head towards her, "Saw a drugstore, what'cha waiting for, mouse?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she glanced quickly across to Daryl, watching as he moved stealthily after Rick, crossbow cradled at the ready in his arms.

"Biters!" Merle whooped suddenly. He laughed largely as he thrust upwards with the bayonet on his prosthetic arm, the walker dropping heavily to the floor, dark blood pooling rapidly as it's head thumped to the concrete. He glanced at her, smiling smugly. "An' that's how it's done, sister."

Carol shook her head at him, and stepping to his left hand side, rammed her knife firmly through the eye socket of a young female walker that had focused it's attention on Merle. "As you said Merle, that's how it's done."

"Well my, ain't you quite the surprise?" he chuckled approvingly.

"Mhm," she said glancing over his shoulder, "I see more walkers."

"I see 'em too. Stay close behind me, cover my ass," Merle replied, the grin he gave her slipping of his face as he saw her still stood at his side. His eyes narrowed. "I mean it mouse, stay behind me."

Carol only nodded at him, watching as he strode across the tarmac. She kept close to him, putting down a walker who'd wandered within her range. Merle dropped two more walkers in quick succession, his bayonet streaked with sticky blackened goo. She glanced down at her own knife, flicking the blade suddenly, watching momentarily as blood dripped off her blade, smacking onto the tarmac thickly.

"C'mon," Merle murmured, grabbing her arm and drawing her into the drugstore with him.

The only walkers in the building were long dead, three dusty dirty husks. Shelving hung haphazardly, torn and twisted, the shop floor strewn with beat up bottles, some burst, spewing up their desiccated contents. The air felt thick and cloying with accumulated scents and general disuse.

She watched as Merle shuffled to a stripped down shelf, his hand brushing against a bottle of shampoo, knocking it to the ground. He looked at her slyly then, and Carol felt her breath catch awkwardly in her throat. He had a packet of condoms in his hand and was staring at her brazenly. Silently appraising her.

"You never know mouse. Pays to be prepared," he grinned. "And ain't I the regular boy scout?"

She felt the heat rise to her face, "Those have an expiration date Merle? I think it's going to be a long while 'til you get laid."

"Was thinkin' you and our Darlina," he said, lips curling downwards into a sneer. "Say, our boy put the wood to you yet?"

"None of your damn business. It isn't like that," she spat.

"Meh, jus' as I thought. Little brother always was slow on the uptake." He turned from her, chuckling before palming the condoms into a pocket.

She swore she could still see his grin despite his back facing her.

Carol sighed as she watched Merle walk determinedly to the prescription isle at the back of the shop. "Fuck," he spat suddenly angrily, "Goddamned place been torn apart here too. Ain't much left. The better shit is kept out'a sight, store room. There's gotta be one here..." he chortled triumphantly opening a small back door, peeking his head in.

She found a couple of granola bars and hurriedly stuffed them into her backpack, her hand pausing, then ramming three dented, dusty bottles of water she found there too. Her eyes skimmed the nearly empty shelves, despairing as she saw the majority of the good stuff taken. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she glanced towards the front of the building, a sudden movement out in the bright sunshine catching her eye.

"Merle? Come here," Carol called out, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice as her heart pounded suddenly, almost painfully in her chest. "You should see this."

He stomped his way back towards her, one arm brushing against her as he shoved past. "What the hell?"

Carol caught his black shirt tightly in her fist, yanking him suddenly backwards and up against herself.

"Ain't really the time or place, sweetheart," he drawled lazily, peeking at her over his shoulder.

"Shut up Merle," she hissed behind him. "Look!"

He glanced in her direction, eyes widening as he saw a throng of walkers stumbling across the street. The breath whistled in his chest. "Well shit."

...


	3. Chapter 3

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****..****Nor do I own Daryl or Rick. ****Sadly.****

_a/n: Firstly-a huge massive thank you to everyone that has taken the time out to read/review, follow and favourite this little tale! Your kind words are so very much appreciated! _

_This...ah this was such an awkward ass of a chapter to write, the first few paragraphs were re-written more times than I care to admit. But it is done, and I hope it works. Next chapter will be back to Carol and Merle!_

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Daryl stood in the ransacked mess that had once been a somewhat respectful hunting supply store. Heavy shutters at the windows had concertinaed outwards, tattered and bloodstained, shards of thick glass littering the inside, but even those frail tattered shutters couldn't dispel the rays of light that filtered unevenly.

A solitary walker, it's feet trapped between torn shelving had turned towards them, the few yellowing stumps of teeth remaining in it's jaw clacking hungrily as it shuffled and tumbled over itself in it's greed, stupidly trying to reach them. Rick stood next to it, his head slightly cocked to one side as if he saw something else there, something that Daryl couldn't see.

He raised his crossbow, hesitating. "Rick," he called softly, frowning when the man paid him no response.

"_Why_ are you here? I _thought_ the prison...you shouldn't be here, no...you're not," Rick whispered suddenly.

Daryl felt the small hairs on his arms prickle, shuddered as an icy chill slipped slowly down his back. Lowering his crossbow, he thrust the straps about himself and grabbed at his knife. A few paces and he was across the floor, shoving the sheriff unceremoniously out of the way as he bent down quickly, thrusting his blade into the walkers dead. It plopped to the floor in a hiss of fetid air, blood oozing thickly across the floor.

Daryl glared at him, wiping the blade on his grimed pants. "What the hell man?" he demanded.

Rick stood with his head bent, before raising one hand slowly and rubbing at his face with one palm. He gazed at Daryl slowly, his blue eyes dull and groggy as if he were slowly awaking from a deep sleep.

"That walker damn near had yer ass. Snap out'a it!"

Daryl angrily felt that he was fighting a losing battle with himself. Fear and impatience rolled heavily in his gut. He was concerned for Rick, for the way that he just simply stood there, an almost slack jawed, eyes glazed expression. The other part was torn, worried about the way that Merle had seemed more than happy to have Carol accompanying him. He'd seen the slight jubilant cast to his brothers face as Merle had briefly smirked at him, and he would have been downright lying if he didn't admit that it ate at him. He'd seen that look before, knew exactly what it meant. Meant his asshole bro' would try and put some sort of move on her, and he wasn't there to stop him. Like it had always been. Merle might be an asshole of the first degree, but he always had been a charismatic asshole.

And of all the stores that Merle _had_ to find, it was just so fuckin' typical that he had latched onto the only drugstore across the street.

Not just that, now he was stuck with crazy town Rick. Whatever the hell was up with the former sheriff he needed to snap the fuck out of it. He'd seen Rick lose it back at the prison. Glenn had said privately that Rick had gone walking crazy town, and Daryl thought that was an apt turn of phrase. But now really was not the time to go all out looney-toons.

Daryl let all the pent up air in his chest out in a long drawn hiss of breath, before tersely prodding a finger in Rick's chest. The man jolted a step under the pressure and Daryl felt his hand curl into a fist. If he had to, he'd knock that shitty vacant gaze off his face.

He was relieved when he saw Rick finally shake his head, heard his sharp intake of breath, the way his hand reached across to rest calmly above the holster at his waist.

"Thought I'd lost ya there for a minute man," Daryl said, noting the way that Rick's eyes had thankfully lost that vacant glaze.

"What happened?" Rick questioned, pausing before saying softly, "I'm sorry."

"No fuckin' clue," he replied, pushing his way past him, trying desperately to forget. Now Rick was back, all compos mentis, Daryl couldn't help but feel somewhat embarrassed by the whole scene. He stood with his back to the man, chewing nervously on a thumbnail, while casting his eyes around the store, listening to the long heavy booted stride as Rick eventually stalked across the store.

"A few cartons of ammo, two rifles. This place must have been hit hard by looters at the start," Rick said abruptly.

"Wasted fuckin' trip," Daryl growled as he searched through boxes, tore through the remaining shelving, throwing baseball camps with cheery logos and overly brightly coloured vests all over the floor. He spied two brass handled pocket knives and a spool of fishing reel, thrusting them into his bag without a second thought. Rick had seemingly fared a little better, two rifles and a shotgun were slung by their belts over his shoulder, and clenched in one hand was a pair of binoculars.

Hearing a sudden sound outside, his skin prickling with a sharp foreboding, he rushed out, the sight turning his feet to lead. He heard Rick's rapid sharp intake of air a few seconds later as he stood next to him.

Daryl felt the breath freeze in his chest, felt it seep through his body and arms and legs, felt the sheer immobilizing panic that shredded it's way through him. His limbs felt locked in place, feet frozen to the tarmac. The sheer amount of walkers-_herd _he corrected himself fearfully, was one of the largest he had seen in a while. He had no idea how many there were, or where they'd come from, but as he watched he saw stragglers at the edges of the street converging with the mass now ambling towards them. Bile rose thick and acrid in his throat and he gulped it back, wincing. Merle and Carol were still in that fuckin' drugstore, and they had no chance to get to them. His hands shook as he tore the crossbow off his back, knowing that a few paltry bolts wouldn't so much as make a dent.

He cast a fearful look at Rick, his eyes dropping to the pistol in the sheriffs hand. Rick wore the same tight fearful expression as he did, but there was a determined shine to his eyes.

"We have to leave Daryl, and we have to leave now," Rick hissed firmly.

"No, I ain't gonna leave them, no fuckin' way. 'S my brother. Carol. We have to help 'em," Daryl heard a slight whine to his voice, unable to stop the fear from reaching it. He flinched suddenly as he felt a hand close over his fore-arm, the grip tight and strong.

"We leave now," Rick repeated, and Daryl felt the stupefied rage surge through his body. He wrenched his arm from his grasp, angrily shaking his head.

"We go, but we _can_ give them a fighting chance to get away. It's all we can do. You have to trust me Daryl."

"I...jus' ain't gonna stand here and do nothin' Rick. Lost 'em both before-an' it ain't happenin' again."

Rick stooped his shoulders, twisting his head to the side, blue eyes riveting firmly on Daryl's. "Remember Atlanta? Glenn and that damned car?"

Daryl thought back to that time when they'd gone back for Merle, finding him gone and he nodded begrudgingly, twisting his gaze from Rick's. He thought he saw his brother stood at a window, thought he saw Carol stood behind him. His gut wrenched sickeningly again. The walkers hadn't seen them, hadn't picked up their scent yet, even though they were now only two car's distance from the drugstore. Even if Merle and Carol _could_ get out, those fuckin' walkers would pick up the pace and be on them in no time. He tried to ignore the image that sprung instantly unbidden, _of his brother, of Carol being torn apart_...he was suddenly aware that Rick was still speaking, his tone hushed and urgent, and with a wrench of willpower he blanked the image from his mind, and focused on the man's words.

"We _have_ the upper hand, we are _nearer_ to the car. We can do this Daryl, but I need you here with me now. Are you with me?"

As he stared down the former sheriff, he thought he'd never hated anyone as much as he did right at that moment_, _but then understanding slipped keenly through his body, thawing his thoughts and freeing his feet.

"Yeah, I gotcha," he muttered darkly through clenched teeth.

Rick nodded at him. "Let's move then. Give them that chance." He slipped across the tarmac, drawing his gun from it's holster. He paused, his eyes narrowed grimly at Daryl before raising his pistol, firing several shots into the heavy throng of walkers. A few fell to the ground, but more pushed ahead.

Daryl raised his gun, following Rick's lead, firing into the crowd. Four more fell to the ground heavily in a tangle of rotting limbs. A few precious seconds later and a few more stragglers seethed across the sidewalk to the join at the front of the herd, nearing the windows of the drugstore. He risked a few paces forward, ignoring Rick, to wave across to Merle. "Stay back!" he shouted, gesturing one hand. He yelled again, seeing with some satisfaction the walkers heads turning towards them. He gestured one last time, calling out _I'll find ya brother_, relief coursing through him as he saw Merle finally acknowledge him, before he dashed down the street hot on Rick's heels, tears stinging his eyes. He'd go back, he'd find them, it wasn't a question, it was a damned fuckin' surety.

Wrenching open the Hyundai's door, Rick threw in his backpack and the guns that had been slung across his shoulders. Daryl glanced back up the street, firing two more shots, before dumping his crossbow and bag in the backseat alongside Rick's.

They sat in the car a few seconds longer than was necessary, the car's engine idling steadily, almost reassuringly, watching as the throng shambled gracelessly throughout the cul-de-sac. Daryl felt his heart thump a sick tattoo in his chest, the sound coarse and deafening in his ears. His knuckles glowed white as he balled his hands tightly into fists at his sides.

Rick still had his hand pressed firmly on the car's horn-echoing a time when Glenn had once done something similar in a small red sports car, alarm blaring ear-achingly loud, drawing walkers from them, allowing them escape. Daryl risked a quick look over his shoulder, seeing more of the damned hateful things lumbering towards them.

The car pulled off agonizingly slowly, horn still blaring, as the walkers changed direction, veering off their intended course and heading straight for them.

...


	4. Chapter 4

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. ****

_a/n: I would like to say a big ole __thank you to everyone that has taken the time out to read __and __review, follow and favourite this little __story!_

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><p>"Daryl," his name hung in the air for a few seconds before Merle rumbled tersely, "has gone taken off with his girlfriend, Officer Prick. Gone an' left us, sweetcheeks. Ain't none gonna save our asses now. Nope. Jus' ole Merle an' lil Mouse."<p>

"They wouldn't leave us..." Carol tried to keep the disbelief from edging into her voice, knowing that she'd failed as she saw anger chase across his brow, the way his eyebrows knitted together as he looked over his shoulder at her. She edged away from him, idly wondering at the fact that the back of his shirt was still bunched tightly in her fist. She shook her hand away from him, taking a few steps backwards, her hands falling and clasping loosely at her sides.

"I ain't lying sister." Merle shrugged, "Be my guest and look yerself. It's jus' you, me and a whole lot'a fuckin' undead ass-holes back there."

She glanced from him to the window, eyes widening in horror as she saw several stumbling rotting faces appear at the furthest edge of the large glass paneled windows. "We need to get away Merle," Her voice trembled with fright.

"And go where?" Merle faced her, raising his arms upwards, "In case you haven't noticed, our options are pretty fuckin' limited," he hissed.

"You said there was a store room. Out back..."

The glass shattered inwards suddenly, the sound crystal sharp and ringingly clear amidst the wretched moaning. A hand clawed itself inwards, ragged over grown fingernails scraping, fingers clutching. Merle spun on his heel, the knife on his prosthetic limb swinging upwards automatically, thrusting under the walkers jaw with a sickening crunch. He grunted with exertion, pulling the blade free before thrusting it at another head.

Carol hesitated a split second, before pulling her own blade free of it's sheath, joining him at the window. She caught a walker, a young man with shaggy filthy matted hair, jabbing him neatly in the throat. Blood shot out and she grimaced in disgust, before stabbing at another.

Merle grabbed her arm abruptly, dragging her back across the drugstore with him. His breath panted out raggedly as his fingers dug into her skin, and she fought back a sob. How could Daryl have just left them? Her heart twisted achingly. Surely he wouldn't just leave unless it was absolutely necessary, unless there was no other option. She thought she knew him, probably more than she knew any other living person.

"Daryl will come back for us," she said, although she didn't know if she was just trying to placate the highly agitated man at her side, or whether she was trying foolishly to convince herself.

"Yeah, maybe," Merle spat, pulling the door open and thrusting her inside. He paused, glancing quickly over his shoulder, before pushing in after her and closing the door with a small firm click.

Carol leaned against the wall, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She tried desperately not to think of the walkers out there, tried not to think of them surging through the store, their dead hands mindlessly reaching out for them, tried not to think of Daryl and Rick fighting for their lives. Her head felt heavy so she let it slump weakly to her chest, her breath shallow. Tears prickled hotly against her eyelids and she let them slip out, glad of the dimness of the room, glad that he couldn't see them in her moment of weakness.

Trying to control her breathing and the tightness in her chest, she opened her eyes slowly, willing herself to be calm. She sighed, and took a long steadying stare at Merle. He was slumped on the ground opposite her with his legs bent, prosthetic arm resting across his knees. In the faint light she could see the dark smudges under his eyes, the worry lines etched deeply into his brow. His eyes were hooded, cast down at the ground-he reminded her of a penned animal trapped in a small confined cage, the way that his shoulders were hunched stiffly, the muscles in his arms bunched tightly, the faint sheen of sweat covering his forehead and grizzled cheeks.

He raised his head slowly as if he felt her gaze on him, steely eyes boring into hers and holding her look steadfastly. He smirked lazily at her, "Say Mouse, if it's right that our boy _ain't_ put the wood to ye yet...ya can always bump some uglies with me while we're stuck in here. Ya know, pass the time? Jus' saying, I'd let ya git some practice in. I'm charitable like that."

Carol felt herself bristle with indignation. Whatever happened-or _hadn't_ happened with Daryl was of no damned concern of his. "Why are you such an ass Merle?" she asked, then instantly wished she could take the words back. Was no sense in goading him when they were stuck together. She'd been better off just ignoring him.

"Got a bite on ya Mouse, I approve," he chuckled. "Wanna show ole Merle later just how _much_ ya can bite?"

Carol shook her head, ignoring him while listening for sounds from behind the door. She knew that a few walkers must have gotten into the store, she could hear their low moans and slow shifting gait, but by all rights- more than a _few_ walkers should be in there. It seemed unnervingly strange, those the only noises apart from the slight muffled blare of a car horn. She listened more intently, cocking her head slightly to one side.

"What you hear?" Merle asked, sitting up more rigidly, hand flat on the ground next to him.

Carol glanced at him, frowning. "I thought I heard a car horn, but it's gone."

"Could'a just been one of them biters thumpin' on a car." He settled wearily back down at his spot on the floor.

"I don't know. Maybe. I hope Daryl and Rick got away safely."

"Baby brother gotta charmed life," Merle said simply.

She nodded at him, not trusting herself to answer. Tears stung at her eyes again. She sighed heavily and looked back down at him, her eyes narrowing suddenly as she saw a spot of blood dripping down his arm. "You're bleeding. Have you been bitten? Did they scratch you?" She felt a deep chill settle uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

Merle glanced at his arm, muttering a curse. "Nope, must'a caught myself on glass when them biters came through the window."

"It needs to be treated."

He rolled his eyes at her, "It's jus' a scratch, quit yer damned worrying."

Carol tugged the bag off her shoulders and knelt on the ground next to him. Reaching in to the bag, she pulled out a small thin flashlight, switching it on so she could inspect the wound closely. Her fingers grazed his arm confidently and coolly, and she felt him stiffen at her light touch. She felt a surge of relief as she saw that it wasn't a bite or a scratch from a walker, just a long smooth clean cut across his bicep.

"Leave it woman," Merle growled warningly at her.

She ignored him, sitting back on her heels, rummaging through her bag until her hand closed on the small grubby white handkerchief with her initial embroidered on it, that she had kept with her for so long. She sadly smiled to herself, thinking back to what seemed now an eternity ago, to when her mother had given her it. It had been wrapped around four hundred dollars in notes, and her mother had thrust it at her, begging her to take it and _leave him_, just as Ed had pulled up in the driveway, his car door slamming shut. She had placed her hand on her expanding belly and whispered then that she couldn't just _go_, he was going to be a _father_, and her mother had stormed out, angry frustrated tears streaming down her face. Carol never really saw her mother much after that, nor did she see any of the money that she had left either. All she'd had was that handkerchief and a burning red slapped cheek, the imprint of his hand lasting for just over a week while he drank the money away and she'd had to hide in the house until the mark had vanished.

Unsheathing the knife at her belt and wiping it briefly on the leg of her pants, she cut a strip of the cleanest material she could see from off her shirt. They hadn't found any gauze or cotton pads, and the irony stung at her. Carol placed the handkerchief to the cut on his arm, binding it with the strip off her shirt. She smiled at him, before patting the metal of his prosthetic arm.

Merle glared at her suspiciously as she edged back away from him, sitting a few feet from him with her back to the wall. "Told ya I didn't want yer fussing," he choked. His gaze dragged away from hers to return to sullenly looking at the floor.

Carol shrugged her shoulders, one eyebrow raised quizzically at him. How could two brothers be so alike, and yet so completely and utterly unalike? "Get some rest Merle. For what it's worth, I'll keep watch."

"Don't need no bitch to tell me what to do." He shifted about on his spot on the hard ground. "You mother hen ma lil bro' like this? Yer making him soft," Merle spat petulantly.

"Needing...or asking for help doesn't make anyone soft Merle. It makes them smart. Now, get some rest while you can. I'll watch." She pushed herself off the floor, turning to pace quietly towards the door.

"What fuckin' ever," he growled, glaring at her briefly before closing his eyes.

Carol looked around the room, waiting as she heard his breath grow shallower. When she felt satisfied that he had drifted off to sleep, she stepped lightly across the room, turning the torch on as she moved. Across from the door stood a small white unit, doors partly opened, and a few racks of shelving with what seemed to be small discarded bottles. She shone the light at them, her hands deftly moving, picking bottles up, discarding them when she saw that a few had already been emptied. At the far back of the unit, her hands clutched at a larger bottle, and she brought it out, raising the light to read the contents. Amoxicillan. Carol felt a small smile rise to her lips and triumphantly she dropped the bottle of antibiotics into her bag. She found a few others, Tylenol and some Codeine which she palmed straight away. She searched for a few minutes more, feeling hopeful that she might find more meds which Hershel would undoubtedly be pleased with. She tried to feel not so disappointed when her search came up empty. She had been lucky enough to find the few that she had.

Switching the torch off, she crept back across the room, pausing at the door listening. She wondered where Daryl was, and she prayed that he was all right. With an aching heart she lowered herself to the ground, keeping her back pressed up against the door. She pulled her gun from her belt, and placed it on her lap, waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

_a/n: Thank you so much again to everyone that has read, reviewed and liked this story! You all make this fangirl writer so very happy!_

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><p>It hadn't been that long ago since Carol had found herself in almost the same predicament as she was in now. Trapped by walkers, fearful in a small dark confined space, claustrophobia constricting her airwaves and gnawing insidiously at her insides. Only that time-she had been totally alone. Now she took some small measure of comfort and relief at the soft snores issuing from across the floor. Of all the people to have been trapped with, she never in her wildest dreams thought that she would actually feel happy to be cooped up with Merle. But she was. His solid unrelenting presence soothed the chill in her heart. She wasn't alone.<p>

Carol took a sip out of the water bottle clasped in her hand, savouring the warm tepid water as if it were something utterly divine. Back then...that time that she had been lost in those myriad prison corridors and had been almost ready to give up on hope and life, she would have given anything then for a single sip, no matter how tepid, or stagnant the water.

T-Dog's face then ghosted to the backs of her eyes, and she felt the tears fogging her vision thickly. Sat there in the darkness, she sadly remembered his wide smile, his sincere chocolate hued eyes, his boisterous mirthful laugh. She missed him, and felt a poignant sadness settle deep inside of herself. He had been bitten, but not even thinking of himself or his plight, his act so unquestionably selfless, he had given his life up for her to escape. She didn't feel worthy of it then, and she didn't feel worthy of his sacrifice now.

She took another long sip of water, reluctantly screwing the lid back on and pushing it back into the bag at her side. She reached in and pulled another bottle out, undoing the lid and shoving herself to her feet. They had to leave-they'd probably been here for too long as it was, but she had wanted at least one of them to get some rest, albeit how short. Sleep and water would have to be rationed as much as possible from now on.

She leaned over Merle and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, shaking him softly. His eyes snapped open, seeking hers and resting there. She silently handed him the bottle, moving her hand off his shoulder as she turned away from him, not seeing the almost questioning look he shot her.

He took a leisurely slug of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, bottle turned upwards in his palm. "Ya let me sleep too long, sugar," Merle chided her mildly as he stood up, rolling his neck to get rid of the chinks and stiffness. He hadn't meant to fall asleep and he felt a shot of guilt that he had, and that she had let him. He handed her back his bottle, half drunk, and she screwed the lid on before ramming it into her bag.

The sound of his voice sudden in the stillness of the room made her heart lurch unexpectedly. She turned and faced him, one hand tugging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. The blade of the knife in her hand gleamed dully in the thin light. "We need to leave, Merle." Trepidation pulled at her deeply and she found that she couldn't hide the nervous tremor from her voice-and from the quick look he gave her, it seemed that he had heard it too.

He shoved his way towards her, growling in what he hoped was a somewhat reassuring voice and said, "Jus' stick close to me, little mouse. Ain't gonna give baby brother no reason to bitch my ass if I don't keep ya nice an' safe."

Carol gripped her blade tighter. She smiled at him wanly, meeting his even tight lipped gaze. "Let's just get this over with."

Merle paused, his hand grasping the door handle. Carol glanced up at him, swallowing tightly, the thunder of her heart almost overwhelming in her ears. She wiped a sweaty palm against the leg of her pants, pushing closer to the door. She was stood so close to him that her nose was almost pressed into the sleeve of his shirt.

As Merle tugged the door open, the walkers heads snapped immediately towards them, and as one they surged. Carol guessed that there must have been at least seven of them, trapped and too stupid to get out, or staying because they thought their next meal was so close. She grimaced at that thought, keeping pace with the man at her side. A walker loomed close to her, and she caught it with her knife, leaning forward to thrust the blade through it's pulpy forehead. Merle was ploughing through them single-mindedly, they were dropping to the floor with heavy sickly boneless thumps.

One walker slithered its ungainly way to her, and she noticed in distaste that its ankle must have been broken, the way it hobbled towards her with its sneakered foot bent and twisted to the side. She knocked its arm away from her with the back of her hand as it reached out, its long raspy fingers clutching at thin air. Its guttural moan was almost one borne out of sheer frustration. She dodged nearer and slipped her knife through its softened decaying skull, an arc of dark blood and grimy gore spraying outwards thickly. Her feet slipped in the sticky black blood and she momentarily grabbed hold of Merle to steady herself. He glanced swiftly at her, panting slightly at her side. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, a silent thanks that the walkers were finally dead, and that they themselves remained unscathed.

Merle paced across the floor, his feet clomping heavily, and abruptly he kicked out at a corpse with his boot. "Look'it, the dumb fuck," he laughed, grinding his heel into the soft cracked head, half watching as Carol moved past him to the doorway. She just inclined her head momentarily at him, trying her best to avert her sight from the carnage underfoot, but her eyes compelling her nonetheless.

She stepped outside hesitantly. Grimacing, she looked out across the street. Several walkers were ambling slowly down the asphalt, feet shuffling and the low groans seeming loud in the quietness. As she watched, she saw three more walkers raise their heads in their direction, and she noticed more edging towards them from a pathway between two derelict stores. They had to get away from there before they attracted any more unwelcome attention.

His hand on her shoulder broke her train of thought, and as she looked, he gestured with his prosthesis. "Reckon we stand a better chance in them woods than jus' standing here with our thumbs in our asses," Merle grunted.

"Mhm, the car should be there too, unless..." she trailed off, chewing at her lip. She tried to push the unbidden despair to the back of her mind, hoping against hope that Daryl and Rick had made it out safely.

"Ain't no use hangin' round here, c'mon mouse," he strode heavily down the tarmac, turning and waiting impatiently for her to follow.

Holding the strap of her bag more firmly across her shoulder with one hand, she chased after him. Annoyingly, she had to admit to herself that Merle really did seem to be one of a kind. She kept her eyes to the black shirt marching confidently in front of her, seeing how he casually one-armed dispatched any walker that even dared to stray into his vicinity. He had a cocky self assured demeanour, but she had a strange sense that maybe just like Daryl, he was possibly a lot more than what he appeared to be-what he projected to the outside, to people he couldn't...or wouldn't let near. Or trusted. _Just like Daryl_. Or maybe...she was just completely wrong and her first analysis of him at the quarry had been right all along-that he was nothing more than a crude self serving ass.

They stopped at the edge of the cul-de-sac, ankle deep in brown sun scorched grass, where not more than a few hours ago, all of this had surely started. She was unsurprised to see the blank space where the car had been parked. She heard a deep sucked in breath of air as Merle stood next to her, his good hand clamped to the back of his neck. He turned on his heel, his smoky blue gaze boring into hers with wry amusement as he stared back at her.

"Son of a bitch," Merle rasped, eyebrows raising. "They really did go an' leave us."

"Merle," she said, raising her hand and catching him by the elbow. "That car horn I heard? I think Daryl and Rick used the car to draw the walkers away. By all rights there should have been a lot more walkers out there than what there were." He faced away from her but not before she caught the almost rueful cast to his face. _This was __never__ just about herself, he'd lost __his brother__ too_. "Merle, you know that Daryl wouldn't just leave you, not after finding you again. If they hadn't had taken the car, chances are...we'd probably be dead, and them too," she added softly.

He grunted tersely in reply, glancing down at her small hand on his arm, and shrugged. He thought that it seemed Daryl was far more resourceful than he gave him credit for. "We need'a make ground, get the trees at our backs, and find shelter before this fuckin' light quits on us," he said gazing at the waning sunlight. "Them biters will keep to the road more," he nodded, indicating the asphalt behind them with his head.

"Alright," she replied firmly, letting her hand drop from his arm and move to the strap across her shoulder. She eyed the tree-line warily, not really wishing to be caught out at night in the woods, with just the two of them. Chances were they could so easily lose their way amongst the trees in the dark, _despite_ his tracking abilities, and with just the two of them, it would be too much to hope to be able to keep an eye out for walkers as well. If they were in a larger group, that wouldn't be such an issue, but with Merle and herself-well she didn't fancy being caught out there with just him for company, no matter how capable he was.

The sudden dank coolness of the trees shrouded them as they stepped into the undergrowth, her boot caught and snapped on a twig, sending a bird rustling noisily through the foliage. Her eyes quickly scanned for walkers, and seeing none she looked over at him, her blue eyes narrowing suspiciously as she noticed that he carried nothing over his shoulders. "Where's your bag...backpack Merle?"

"Bitches-I mean _women_ an' pussies carry bags an' shit," he smirked at her widely.

Carol frowned at him. "We all carry bags on runs, Daryl and Rick do."

"Point proved, darlin'," Merle smiled, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You're such an ass, Merle," Carol sighed, but as she turned from him, she couldn't help the small half smile pull at her lips.

He followed after her in the woods, four steps behind, and Merle had to admit to himself as he watched her ass wiggling-his curiosity about this woman had been eating him and it had for quite a while now. The interest had piqued a little more since they'd travelled in the car with that damned asshole sheriff driving. He wanted to see exactly what this hold was that this woman had over his little brother. He'd watched them back at the prison. He'd seen them stood close together, laughing like they were sharing some goddamned private little joke. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he had resented it. He'd had half a mind back at the prison to tell baby brother to stop acting like a dumbstruck chicken shit over a piece of fucking skirt. After ever single damn thing they'd been through...and lil' bro had just plain old ignored him, making him feel like the shitty outcast that he felt he was. It just wasn't fucking acceptable. But as he'd watched her, seen how she'd handled herself, how she had held herself together, he begrudgingly had to admit that maybe he could start to see a little of what that attraction was. She certainly wasn't that timid shabby little woman he'd known back at the quarry.

And for the one thing, she now had a bite on her that he somehow liked quite fine. That same curiosity pulled at him temptingly, wondering just _exactly_ how far he could push her- to see just how much she would _bite __back __at him_. Merle smiled to himself. It'd sure make that long assed trek back to the prison a little more interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

****Disclaimer: ****I do not own The Walking Dead. ****

_a__/n: Thank you to everyone that is following this fic._

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><p>Carol noticed that the solitude of the woods didn't seem to affect Merle as much it did his brother. In fact it appeared no matter the circumstance or place-Merle seemed as much at ease wherever he was. Daryl, she knew of old-would have visibly relaxed as soon as he was under the cover of thick foliage. She sensed that for him, it was a sense of belonging, a habit of feeling steadfast reassurance in old familiar settings. In amongst the trees, he thrived, he could be himself and not have to bear the heavy awkwardness of unwanted but inescapable company and the all too judging stares and stigma that his old way life brought back all too often. In fact, Carol had often seen, that if it hadn't been for Daryl, a lot less of the group would be alive now. His hunting skills had kept them fed when other food sources were scarce-especially after the Greene farmstead and all those long empty miles on the road. He'd helped protect them despite his natural reluctance in being part of a group, had even now become a vital asset within their extended family.<p>

A cool breeze blew at her face and as she walked she let her eyes close briefly to the gentle touch on her skin.

They walked steadily together, the thick carpet of pine needles in parts of the woods muffling all sound, even the stead thump of their booted feet. A heavy stillness pervaded, the only noise she heard was their joint breathing and the occasional rustle of some unknown animal or bird winging carelessly through the undergrowth, leaves almost bristling with their unseen passing. Occasionally their arms bumped against each other, hers brushing against the thick brown leather straps of his prosthetic arm. She sighed and glanced down at her side as they walked.

"Does it bother ya, mouse?" Merle asked brusquely.

Her brow puckered as she raised her eyes back up to his face. "Hmm? Does what bother me?"

"_T__his._ Lack of my hand," he raised the prosthesis between them and shook it, his head turned slightly to one side, steely blue eyes regarding her curiously.

She looked up at him shrugging, "Why would it? It's part of who you are Merle. It doesn't bother me at all."

Merle laughed, but she thought the sound was hollow and devoid of humour. "I saw the looks I got at Woodbury. Them dumbasses would jus' about piss their pants an' gawk at me like I was some kinda dumb fuckin' one man freak-show," his eyes narrowed warningly. "Seen them same looks back at the prison. I know _exactly_ what I am sugar, but being a damn useless cripple ain't one of 'em."

She pursed her lips. He certainly wasn't that-a useless cripple. He handled himself more adeptly than most people she knew did with two good hands. "I'm sorry for what happened back at Atlanta. Nobody should have have gone through what you did."

"Ain't _yer_ fault sister. Wasn't _you_ that went an' left me handcuffed to a fuckin' drainpipe." Merle gazed steadily at the treeline, his hand clenching tightly at his side. "Was that high an' mighty sheriff asshole. Him and that damned chink kid. And..." He laughed again, but the sound felt bitter and painful to her ears. "And then_..._that damn piece of nigger shit, _'Mr Yo' _went and dropped the fuckin' key. Well, I'm telling ya, I ain't done ever forgettin' that."

"Rick..."

"Fuck Rick! Ain't nobody ever given two shits 'bout me except my little brother." Merle spat quickly. He couldn't help the spiral of anger that built up within himself, couldn't stop or hold himself back as he leaned so close to her that their foreheads almost touched, his breath taut shallow angry puffs that ruffled the small curls in her greying hair. He knew that it wasn't her fault, but _she_ was here and _they wasn't_ and he felt the uncontrollable need to be pissed with someone, _anyone_-even though a small voice deep inside him told him to _stop_. He ignored that little voice, instead he reached out and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, his grip tight and firm, before slipping his hand from her shoulder, moving slowly to her face. His hand roughly cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing at her skin.

She held herself there rigidly, coolly defying him. "You're wrong Merle," she said softly.

His eyes narrowed angrily, "Wrong? I _know_ I ain't nothing good, sugar, I never have been," he hissed. "Jus' don't go flattering yerself thinkin' that I fuckin' am. I'm a selfish son of a bitch, always have been-an' if it wasn't for my baby brother, I'd just dump yer fuckin' scrawny ass here." Merle fought back a sliver of guilt that speared him as he watched her eyes widen fractionally. He just stared at her, silence hanging heavily between them, and he was suddenly aware that her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue he'd ever seen. W_hat would it be like to drown in those __eyes? _He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the sudden thought as it prickled at him curiously. Merle sighed thinly, his brief rage fading as quickly as it had come, resting and souring dully in his gut. _Jesus_, he was turning into a goddamned fuckin' pussy...lil bro would be almost proud of him.

Carol knew as she watched him- if she let him get so much as a hint of a reaction, she would be undone and would lose any amount of respect from him. But, she would also refuse to be brow beaten by him. She'd been through similar with Daryl. She knew the drill down to the letter.

"And who's to say that I just wouldn't go and 'dump' your crippled ass here too, Merle?" She stood stock still, as his fingers grazed gently across her cheek. She held her breath steady at the sensation his action drew, ignoring the sudden clamoring inside of her. She just stared back at him instead, refusing to drop her gaze from his.

Merle laughed suddenly, the smile on his lined face large and surprisingly mirthful. His eyes followed his fingers as he trailed them down her cheek to her jaw, then his hand dropped reluctantly, his eyes snapping back to her face, hand thrusting back to his side. "Well goddamn it, mouse. You really are something, aint'cha?"

"Maybe," she gave him a small knowing smile, feeling the breath shake loose inside her.

He stood regarding her for a moment, his blue eyes smouldering, his gaze casually running up and down her small frame. "C'mon sweetcheeks, we need find some shelter 'fore the night kicks our asses." He shook his head smirking at her, then turned from her and strode off, his boots kicking up leaf debris in his wake.

As soon as his back was turned, she let the pent up air out in one long soft sigh. She half wondered if she had actually just won against him, but she wasn't quite sure just exactly _what_ she had won. Her hand reached up and touched at the place where his fingers had been. Her skin still felt warm from his touch. When he had reached out to her, she'd had to steel herself against the old memories of Ed rising unbidden, but she'd just had this strange odd little faith that Merle for all his bluster and cursing, wouldn't have hurt her. The thoughts left her feeling confused and a little shaky that she'd actually let him touch her.

She sighed again, before she took to her feet and chased after him. She'd felt saddened by his outburst-what he had gone through back at that rooftop in Atlanta had scarred him in more more ways than he thought, and she wasn't sure she could blame him for that, either. It seemed to her, that maybe too often Rick would just decide to take matters into his own hands, and sometimes he never fully thought out the consequences of his actions.

"Well, look what we got here," Merle's voice was suddenly loud, breaking through the heady silence. A bird tore overheard through the dense foliage, squawking wildly at the sound. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, as she came up and stood just behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

A wooden shack stood in a small clearing, two windows either side of the door heavily nailed down with thick planks. A dilapidated porch hung precariously, a small pile of logs clinging to one end. Merle walked over to the hut, stooping slightly with his prosthesis raised at the ready. She took it as her cue to creep along side him, gingerly walking up the three wooden steps and flattening herself to the side of the door, as he gripped the handle, rattling it.

"It's locked. From the inside," he murmured.

She pulled her knife from the sheath at her waist, holding it firmly as he shouldered the door open.

He stood back, his hand held out flat towards her, cautioning her to hold her ground as the battered wooden door swung wildly on its hinges, creaking maddeningly. Merle stepped through the door before she could do or say anything, and the minute that he disappeared from sight was the longest minute she thought. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she sighed in relief as he poked his head back out.

"Ain't nothin' in here but some sad bastard that chose the easy way out." He looked at her grimly. "It's safe mouse, c'mon."

Her nose crinkled as the heady aroma of death and disuse assaulted her senses as she stepped into the small building, and she covered her face with her hand. She heard Merle's boots shuffle towards her, and she flinched despite herself when his hand touched at her shoulder.

The body was laying just beyond the doorway, a male wearing a dark plaid shirt and even darker denim jeans. The majority of his head was missing, the remains splattered dryly across the floor and at least halfway up the surrounding wall. She thought she could see a tuft of brown hair and patch of shriveled skin planted into the wood of the wall. Carol thought she was used to seeing death, but nothing ever really prepared her fully for it, no matter how many times she'd seen it. She felt bile rise hotly in her throat, and coughing abruptly, she shrugged Merle's hand off and sharply turned away from the sight.


	7. Chapter 7

****Disclaimer: ****...****I do not own The Walking Dead, ****nor Merle or Carol.****

a/n: _Firstly-__I'd like to say a big__ thank you to every__body__ that has taken the time out to read/review, follow and favourite this __story.__ Your kind words__ as always __are __much appreciated! _

_Secondly: Ah...this chapter really did not go the way I originally wanted and planned it to. I had a good idea of what points I wanted to get across, but damned if my little Merle muse made me go and write something completely different! I did manage to reign it back in a little, but not before the majority of this was written. I'm feeling a little hesitant posting this but oh well, it's written and what's done is done. I hope I can be forgiven!_

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><p>Looking around the interior of the shack, Carol saw that its purpose was purely functional and nothing more. It was sparsely furnished and even less sparsely decorated, only a lone single bed and two chairs stood in the room that functioned as a bedroom. She corrected herself, <em>one chair<em>-the other Merle had dragged across the floor and was ramming under the door handle since the lock had bust when he'd broken in. A partitioning wall hid a small kitchen-which consisted of nothing more than a small sink and two units, one of which held a busted up camp stove. Beyond that was yet a third smaller room which held a rudimentary lavatory, and on closer inspection-she doubted that she would care very much to use it. She supposed that the small time that they'd been at the prison and before all of that, had made her realise all over again just how much she'd missed the small creature comforts that she had so thoughtlessly given no real consideration to before the turn had come and changed all that.

She walked across to the bed and dropped her backpack on it, absently noting the thin blanket and thick grime coated pillow that lay strewn across the bunk. She ran her hand across her forehead, smoothing her palm across her hairline, feeling the dirt and sweat there with a sudden grimace. She had never been one for vanity, Ed had never allowed that, and she scowled despite herself at just how awful she must truly look now.

Merle caught her eye as he paced across to her, standing there hesitantly before dropping his weight heavily on to the bed. She almost smiled at him as she glanced away-he looked as equally filthy and dishevelled as she did. He sat there with his back to the wall watching her, his prosthesis resting loosely across his lap.

His gaze caught hers again and he smiled sweetly at her, "Say darlin', ya still wanna get that practice in we talked 'bout earlier? The offer still stands. I'm all yours."

He caught her off guard and she was about to ask _what __practice,_ when she saw that he was patting at the space beside him on the bed. She foolishly felt herself start to blush and was glad of the dimness in the room. "I'm going to see if there's any food around, there has to be at least something here."

"Quit stallin' woman. I ain't asking for yer hand in marriage, jus' a quick lil fuck. Hell, I won't even tell baby brother."

"Jesus Merle," Carol hissed, almost choking. "Is that _all_ you think about?"

Merle chuckled dryly, "Last I heard, was some sort'a 'end of world' shit goin' on. Have to grab what ye can, when ya can. We could all die anytime soon an' from what I see, I'm yer best option. Little brother is takin' his sweet assed time...and well shit, we all got _needs_ sugar."

Carol rolled her eyes, trying to ignore what he was insinuating. "Hmm."

Merle sat up more rigidly on the bed, his eyes crinkling. "That a yes?"

"No, goddamn it Merle, it's not," she glared at him, her shoulders hunching stiffly. Her hands clenched at her sides and she sighed quietly, uncurling and flexing her fingers. She didn't quite like the way that his words had hit at an unknown until now sore point. He was right in a way, she had been getting mildly frustrated that her relationship with Daryl seemed to be going nowhere fast, and she had reluctantly realised a while back-that if he wanted nothing more from her, then she would be content with just his friendship. It wasn't like she really needed a man in _that_ way. Memories of Ed had put her off forming any sort of relationship _of that_ _nature_ a long while ago.

Merle couldn't help, nor stop the smile that tugged at his mouth. Damned that he liked to see her getting all worked up and riled. He watched as she stomped across the room from him, his eyes dropping to the curve of her ass. Despite the thin light he could still see that alluring slight wiggle as she walked. He found to his chagrin that he was actually starting to mean what he said. He'd have no problem at all obliging her if she gave him half a chance. "Well hell, ya can't blame me for tryin', but you ever change yer mind sweetcheeks, you know where to find me. You won't regret it. I'm _good,_" he rasped.

He didn't see her widened eyes or the way her mouth suddenly twisted up into a humorous smirk as she stepped into the divided off kitchen. She chose to ignore the slight catch in her heart at his words, the way her blood suddenly thrummed questioningly in her veins. _Damned if he wasn't persistent._ She paused a moment, before kneeling down and tugging open a cupboard door, her nose wrinkling suddenly as she smelled the sudden heavy tang of soured musty foodstuffs. Reaching in, mindful of her fingers not touching anything decayed, she touched at several metal objects rammed at the back of the cupboard. Her hand closed on one, dragging it out, and she saw with little surprise that it was a can of soup. Leaning back in, she found two more, a single can of peaches and precious little else. Her hand slammed the door shut with more force than she intended and she glanced up quickly.

She placed them on top of the work surface, and gave a small thankful sigh for the invention of ring pull lids. A quick inspection of the second cupboard yielded a few stubs of candles on a chipped dirt grimed plate, a box of damp matches- the cardboard all bloated out and the few matches that remained inside mouldy and useless. Scooping it all up into her arms, she made her way back to the bedroom, pausing to drop the cans next to Merle on the bunk. She placed the plate with the candles on the floor. "I don't have anything to light these with. Found matches, but they're no good."

"Candles? Sure ya ain't tryin' to git n' woo my ass, huh woman?" he asked in mock indignation as he knelt on the dusty wood floor, his hand fumbling in his pocket for his lighter.

Carol glanced at him, "Don't you ever quit, Merle?" She didn't wait for him to answer as he lit the candles, instead she took his place on the bed, curling her legs underneath her. "We should rest soon, start out at first light."

She took a can of soup and flipped the lid open, gingerly sniffing at the contents. Merle watched her, and she handed him the can, indicating for him to sit on the chair opposite where she sat. He grumbled at her under his breath before sitting down and slowly lifting the contents of the can into his mouth.

They ate in silence for a while, and Carol let her eyes roam around the candle lit room, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"Ain't gonna sleep in this goddamned chair, mouse," he dropped the empty can on to the floor, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Carol looked at him, and grimaced. The chair was obviously too small judging by the way he was squeezed into it. She turned to her backpack, stuffed the remaining cans inside it and dropped the bag on to the floor. Standing up and sighing, she carried her half eaten food in her hand, "Have the bed, I'll take the chair."

"Ain't no need for that, can always share. I jus' don't wanna put ya out on my behalf," he smiled.

Carol looked at him with narrowed eyes as he brushed past her, and sat back on the mattress. He smirked at her, before laying his full length, and patting again at the space next to him. "What?" he growled as she merely shook her head at him, sitting down and getting herself comfortable in the seat. She had this unshakeable feeling that it was possibly going to be a long night.

Merle sat up, and started unbuckling the strap on his arm. Carol couldn't help but watch as he slid the prosthesis off and dropped it softly on the top of her backpack on the floor. He glanced across at her and their eyes met. His gaze was defiant and hooded, and he cocked his head slightly to one side, as if waiting for her to say something. Satisfied she wouldn't, he lay back down, angling his injured arm under the back of his head, using it as a cushion.

Carol slumped in the chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. She shivered, and rubbed at her arms briskly. She listened for a while, the silence almost deafening in the room. Her ears strained for any noise outside, but all she could hear were the sounds of a breeze blowing through the trees, leaves faintly rustling. She shifted in her seat again, trying to find a more comfortable position, sighing when she couldn't.

"Jesus, mouse! I ain't joking... get your ass over here. I ain't gonna get any damn sleep with all yer sighing an' shivering n' crap," Merle growled irritably. "Shit, I'll even fuckin' behave. I'll be the perfect damned gentleman."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Carol replied wearily. The hard edges of the chair were prodding and aching her, and if they had another long trek in the morning, she knew that she would tire rapidly from either lack of sleep, or stiff and sore muscles. Before she could really stop and think about it too much, she stood by the bed, prodding him viciously in the shoulder. "Move over then."

Merle scooted up the bed, and lifted the blanket for her as she climbed in beside him. "See, ain't I behavin'?"

"The nights early Merle," Carol warned as he draped the blanket back over them both. He shifted next to her and she felt herself start to warm, and she wasn't altogether sure if it wasn't just because of the heat his body gave off, or from the sheer embarrassment she felt at his close proximity. She held herself rigid as she felt his chest press at her back, his knee in the back of her thigh, and his arm drape loosely over her waist. She rolled her eyes, stifling a sigh before clamping her eyes firmly shut. "Tell anyone back at the prison about this Merle, and I swear I will kill you," she hissed through her teeth.

_Well...of course, naturally the first person he'd tell would be Darlina._ Would sure piss lil bro off no end when he got to hear how the little mouse climbed voluntarily into 'his' bed. Merle leaned over her, a sudden thought startling him. "Say sugar, what ya said back at the prison, would ya really cut my throat in my sleep?"

"Mhm. Every damn word Merle, now go to sleep."

Leaning back and resting his head into the crook of his arm, he stared at the back of her head, his breath ghosting at her neck. He let his hand settle more firmly about her waist. He wasn't surprised to find he liked her a little more for that. Merle smiled in the dark.


	8. Chapter 8

****Disclaimer: ****...****I do not own The Walking Dead, ****nor Rick and Daryl. ****I****f I did, Rick wouldn't have had any handcuffs on a certain rooftop in Atlanta!****

_a/n: Oh man-this chapter has been one of the hardest to write so far. I had posted it before, but felt so unhappy with it, I pulled it off the site- and my __sincere __apologies for that. I have made a few minor alterations to the chapter that had been posted-my primary concern was that I'd made Daryl a little too angsty, but again after re-reading it, well hell, Dixon's are feisty, and I would like to think that Daryl would indeed feel torn in regards to Merle, and vice-versa. Blood is thicker than water. I have three brothers myself, and while I may not be close to them, if anything happened, I know for a fact that I'd do and feel the same. _

_I would like to__ thank everyone that has taken the time out to read/review, follow and favourite this little __fanfic-y__our kind words are so very much appreciated! __ And I'd also like to say a special thank you to wildcow258._

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><p>It felt like just another cruel twist of fate, and Daryl hated the sudden sting of irony that pricked at him. Just as he'd finally figured that he had let Merle go, plucked up the courage to say that final damn goodbye in his heart-Merle had come back again like the stubborn motherfucker that he was, clawing open those old shitty wounds. And Daryl found that he couldn't just let him go again, not now, not this time. He'd felt blinding rage and guilt at finding him gone on that rooftop that seemed so long ago, the only thing marking his presence was that damned cut off hand, and Daryl had raged at him in his heart, despising him for making him feel weak and useless, hating him and loving him purely because <em>he was<em> his brother. And then Woodbury, and he'd had to go through all those damned fuckin' emotions all over again.

And now this...

Loss gnawed and itched at him like a picked over scab. "I gotta go back Rick," Daryl stated, hearing a sudden whine in his voice and hating it. "I ain't gonna lose him again. I can't. 'S my brother."

"We are doing what we can Daryl. We have _done_ what we can. I _wish_ things were different," Rick grimaced, taking his eyes off the road to briefly look at him. "Your brother, he's strong, a survivor. If anyone can get through this-he will. I'm sure Carol will be safe with him looking out for her."

Daryl sighed, looking out of the car's window as Rick drove. He almost heard the lie hiding inside the other man's voice. It was what he felt himself. The scenery sped before them, a molten mix of heady greens, browns, and grays. _If you only knew my bro__ther__._ "Yeah, he's a stubborn son of a bitch, he always was."

Rick nodded, his eyes back on the road. "Daryl, they'll make it."

He wondered why the shit Rick cared, why he would say that. It was no secret that Rick hated Merle, didn't really want him back at the prison. And, if he was honest with himself-he didn't know if he wanted him back either. Merle was a fuckin' asshole, had left him more times than he cared to remember. He knew. He had the scars to prove it.

The walkers were miles behind them, too stupid and slow to comprehend that their prey had in fact tricked them. After just over mile, Rick had slowly increased the speed of the car, not even needing to blare the horn anymore to attract their attention. They had milled about in a mindless stupor, and as the car had speed away they had just fallen raggedly apart, shambling broken and aimlessly. In a way, it had been relatively easy-the road ahead luckily had been pretty much walker free-just a few that had staggered out of the tree line at the sound of the approaching vehicle, but the car now too fast and their reactions too slow to go in pursuit.

They were making good time, and Daryl was at least thankful for that. As soon as they got back to the prison, it was his every intention to go straight back out and pick up the search. Wasn't no way he was gonna just go and abandon them. And as much as Rick had some sort of weird assed faith that Merle would look after Carol, Daryl worried. Carol-although she could look after herself a whole lot better than she could before when they'd been on that highway and back at the Greene farm-she still wasn't strong enough, despite everything that she had gone through and suffered. He wished that he'd had more time to teach her. He wished that he could have at least grown the balls to let his guard down around her. He wished he'd been there instead of his brother...Daryl clenched his teeth angrily. _Wishes __are__ for fuckin' pansy ass fools_ he heard Merle's voice harsh and unbidden in his head. _Ain't no__ne __ever __gonna help us baby bro__ther__. It's always jus' you an' me. Never forget that. Ain't no __damned __wish gonna make anythin' alright for us._

"Are we good, Daryl?" Rick asked, his voice low and breezing abruptly into his thoughts.

Daryl frowned, "Huh?"

Ricks voice was quiet, almost a soft murmur, and Daryl felt a sudden rising panic engulf him. He had a feeling what was going to be asked, and be fucked if this was the time or place. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, wishing that Rick would just shut the hell up.

"At that store. I know you saw..." Rick's voice trailed off, and Daryl vainly hoped that he would just drop it. His heart dropped when Rick resumed speaking. "I trust you Daryl...and hell, I'm sorry..."

"Ain't no problem man, I dunno what you're talking 'bout. I didn't see any damn thing," he replied quickly.

Rick laughed quietly, glancing at him, and Daryl risked a small peek back at him through the hair dangling thickly over his brow. Be damned that Rick wasn't happy at all what with the way his eyes had that sad semi-vacant glaze. He thought it strangely ironic that he'd always thought that the fucked up ones were him and his brother and their whole goddamned dysfunctional family, but shit if the eventual undead turn hadn't changed his mind. Seemed people were fucked up everywhere, no matter their upbringing, their individual situations. Made it feel all the more reason that it just felt safer just to be out hunting in the woods alone. People had always made his skin itch, made him feel uncomfortable.

They fell into an awkward silence. Daryl didn't feel like talking, partly in fear that Rick might just go banging on about what had happened. He chewed at his thumbnail, gazing out of the window, avoiding the curious glances that Rick shot at him every now and again. Eventually Rick had stopped peering at him and just drove the damned car. At least he'd finally taken the hint and dropped it, Daryl thought.

He felt a surge of relief as they approached the prison gates, although he was dully aware of just how dark it had gotten. He didn't care-he was going to unload the meager supplies they'd gathered, repack, then he was going to pick the search back up. He'd already mentally thought that he'd take the car and not the bike. If..._when_ he found them both, he'd obviously need the damned car.

Glenn was at the gate, and Daryl frowned when he saw that the young Korean was dressed in the black riot gear that they'd pilfered from a supply room. Glenn looked odd being out there on his own with no Maggie in tow. _Merle_, he thought sourly, _the __jackass__ wasn't even there and he was still causing problems_. Seemed nothing had changed between Glenn and Maggie. _It was all Merle's __goddamned __fault_...the Asian kid's face still roughly and markedly bore the aftermath of his brothers fury.

The car hadn't even stopped before Daryl was throwing the door open. He grabbed his crossbow and backpack and rushed out, his boots smacking the concrete with a thud. He was losing time, every single minute increasing the anxiety that was blossoming in his chest. He had this weird assed feeling that if he didn't act soon...if he didn't go out and start the search that Rick would just order him to stay back, and he knew that he _would_ hang back. Rick would always make him see reason even if he didn't necessarily feel it himself. But Merle and Carol were out there without any sort of back up, and he couldn't just leave them. He didn't want to question himself too much, didn't really wish to think how they were coping...what they were doing. He just needed to go and find them, and once he'd gotten them back safely-he'd just have to deal with whatever the repercussions that Merle being back _yet again_ would undoubtedly bring.

He raced through the prison to his perch, having to stop himself from almost throwing the accumulated crap out of his backpack, his hands racing and fumbling in their haste to repack with immediate supplies. His heart convulsed tightly in his chest...and then he was done, throwing the reloaded bag over his shoulder, darting down to pick his crossbow back off the floor where he'd dropped it. He sped down the steps, his boots clattering loudly over every metal rung.

Daryl knew it was going to happen, that he was too late, and it was just too fuckin' dark, when he saw Rick and old man Hershel stood there solemnly regarding him. He knew then that he didn't have a hope- even if he'd managed to find their trail, the non-existent light would be against him. Rick held his hand up, placing it against his chest, firmly stopping him, the sheriffs blue eyes watching him cautiously. Angrily he smacked the hand away, leaning close to the other man, his words a jumble in his head that stubbornly refused to come out. Glowering, he jabbed at him with one finger, his eyes narrowed. Hershel hobbled closer, his hand coming out to try to placate.

Daryl looked at them both with disgust. "This ain't over, man," he hissed shaking his head, before spitting at the ground next to them. He turned on his heel and lurched back up to his perch, the furious growl of frustration bitten back down, locked tightly in his throat.


	9. Chapter 9

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

A thin and thready light weaved its way through the boarded up window, sending pale little tendrils that whispered at her skin. Heat, soothing and comforting held her in its blanketed grasp. She snuggled more firmly into it, not wanting slumber to drift away, her eyes refusing to open. She couldn't recall a time that she had felt so warm and safe. A soft little sigh escaped her, and she slipped her arm more tightly around the solid presence that cushioned her.

"Was it as good for you, as it was for me, darlin'?" a voice drawled so close to her, that she could feel the soft little exhale of breath brush against her skin.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring up at smoky blue eyes that watched her intensely.

_Oh my God...Merle._

He was leaning above her, was so close that their noses were almost touching, his breath soft and warm, tickling against her lips. Carol felt her cheeks heat and redden. She swallowed thickly and suddenly, her eyes widening as his head moved fractionally nearer to hers, his mouth now so close to hers that she wouldn't even have to move for her lips to find his. Her heart beat an almost frantic tattoo in her chest and she froze, the sudden realisation that her arm was still bound tightly around his waist. She blinked rapidly, half wondering if she was still asleep, but his face was still close to hers, and she fought against the paralysis that gripped her, even though she felt warmth start to course through her veins.

"For Christ's sake, stop it Merle," she hissed, her hand loosening its grip from about his waist. She let her hand slip away, and placed it firmly against his chest, pushing him from her, feeling him move easily under her hand.

He chuckled next to her, "Don't flatter yerself mouse. I ain't never forced myself on a woman that wasn't willing, an' it sure as hell ain't happenin' now."

She thought she could hear disappointment in his voice. "I didn't mean that..." Mentally she kicked herself, wondering why she'd said that.

"Well hell, ye really are Daryl's' little bitch, aint'cha?" he grinned at her. "Your jus' the same as him."

"How dare you!" Carol shoved herself from the bed, sudden anger flashing hotly through her. Her feet hit the wooden floor, and she pushed herself away from him, away from his comfortable warmth. She paced across the room and stood there with her arms banded tightly about herself. "I don't care what you think," she spat.

"Makes two of us sweetheart," Merle drawled as he sat up, his eyes flashing at her darkly. He retrieved his prosthesis from where it lain, and strapped it back on, ignoring her as she watched him. He stood up slowly, stretching to remove the kinks and ache from his limbs. She was still stood there regarding him warily, and he brushed past her as he walked to the doorway, his elbow coming out and knocking against her. He bit down a laugh as she glared at him.

"We're leaving now?" she questioned as she stepped across the floor, picking her backpack up, her eyes still following him.

"I gotta take a piss, unless ya wanna come an' watch me do that too," he pulled the chair from the door, and turned his head, smirking at her.

His boots rattled down the rickety steps and she just stared after him, shaking her head as she pulled the straps of the bag over her shoulder. Stepping out of the shack, she paused, taking a last look behind her. She saw a dark object laying on the floor, and bent to pick it up. A ripple of sadness coursed through her as she realised it was the gun that the former inhabitant had used to end his life. With a small sigh she dropped it into her bag and followed after Merle into the woods.

She stood in the morning light, feeling the first rays of sun warm and pleasant against her skin. A twig snapped to her left, and she turned on her heel watching as Merle walked towards her. He quirked an eyebrow, and she bit at her lip, not wanting to smile at him.

"Disappointed ya didn't come and enjoy the view mouse," he chided her, reaching out and pulling the bag off her shoulder. Her hand snaked out and grabbed at the strap, stopping as he sighed, "Let me carry that."

"I thought you said only pussies carry bags," Carol reminded him.

"An' I told you that I can be nice." He hoisted the straps over his shoulder. "See? Ain't I behavin'? Maybe if I keep doin' this sorta crap, you can put in a good word with our Darlina."

"Will take more than carrying a bag, Merle," she laughed as they walked. There was a worn path that they hadn't seen the night before, and she saw it lead right through the thick expanse of trees.

"Mhm, maybe. Ya wont take me up on any other offer darlin', I'm getting damn well disappointed. Yer missing out on some good ole Merle lovin'."

Carol glanced at him walking at her side, her head tilting to one side, "You don't ever quit, do you?"

He smiled at her briefly, the lines around his eyes crinkling, "Ya only have to say 'yes', sugar."

She rolled her eyes at him, choosing not to answer and encourage him. They walked in silence for a while, stopping only twice to put down three walkers that had ambled through the treeline, low throaty growls breaking the heavy stillness.

The sun was now beaming overhead, and she felt sweat prickle at the back of her neck. "Merle, stop a minute, need to take a break." He looked at her grunting in reply, and she walked over to him, unzipping the bag and taking out two water bottles. She noted regretfully that they didn't have much left. "Here," she handed him the bottle that had the most water in it, flipping the lid on hers and swallowing it gratefully. She let herself lean against a thick tree, thankful of the heavy foliage that shaded her.

He drained his bottle, and stuffed it back into the bag on his shoulder.

"So, what happened at Woodbury?"

"Ain't nothin' to tell," he turned brusquely from her.

"You never said, and Daryl hasn't said much about it either..."

"What the hell you want me to tell ya?" Merle looked at her."I found my baby brother, an' we fuckin' lived happily ever after? Is that what ya wanna hear?"

Carol shook her head, ignoring his sarcasm. "I just want to know."

"You don't know jack shit," Merle spat, "You don't know what _he_ did. What he is capable of. The Governor."

Carol looked at him sympathetically, "I don't know unless you tell me."

Merle paused for a few moments, looking at her thoughtfully, his hand rubbing at his face. His mouth twisted in to a sneer."You know, for a while...I was somebody there. Woodbury. I _mattered_. Now I ain't worth nothin. I'm a dead man walking. There ain't no good for me no more. All I had was my baby brother, an' now I reckon I about lost him too."

"Daryl wouldn't just write you off..."

"What the fuck you know? You reckon you know my little brother?" He shook his head, scowling. "Sister, yer fooling yourself, an' your wasting your time with me. I done plenty bad things, some I ain't even proud of. Shit. I don't even _know_ why I do what I do."

"Merle," Carol stepped nearer to him, despite the hammering in her chest warning her to move away. She found she just couldn't. Something about him compelled her. "What happened?"

"You really wanna fuckin' know? Do ya?" He barked, his voice heightening in tone. Carol knew she should just drop it, but the look in his eyes pushed her further. She wanted to know, and she wasn't prepared to let him intimidate her.

"I do," she said, her voice a soft lull against the roughness of his anger.

Merle glared at her, before pushing her abruptly against the trunk of the tree. Her back hit the wood solidly, almost painfully and despite the widening of her eyes, she refused to back down from his angry gaze. He had to give her kudos for that. The woman had balls. His hand pressed hard against her shoulder, and angrily he smacked his prosthesis against the wood above her head.

"Tell me," she insisted, her voice nothing more than a low soothing whisper.

Merle leaned his prosthetic arm against the tree trunk above her, his arm pressing hard against her shoulder, pinning her. He looked down at the ground, his breath harsh, before raising steely eyes to hers. She met his gaze unblinkingly. "He got an 'arena'. The Governor. Two men fight, while he got a whole goddamned captive audience watchin, an' he pushes biters in to the mix. You know?"

Carol frowned, "I wasn't at Woodbury, so no I don't know. What do you mean, walkers?"

His eyes narrowed and he sighed in impatience, "The Governor keeps biters jus' for that arena. Pulls their teeth out, keeps 'em chained. Pits two fighters against each other."

"That's sick," she said faintly.

"You don't know half of what went down in Woodbury. He'd got my lil brother. Put a sack over his head. Demanded that we fight to the death. Blood against blood." He laughed bleakly, and she could see sorrow chase briefly across the blue of his eyes. "He called me a traitor, said I'd led them all to Woodbury. Bullshit, I never did any such fuckin' thing. But that Governor? He's there, pitting me and Daryl against each other, winner walks free. I maybe a fool where my baby brother is concerned, but I ain't stupid. Was no way I was gonna let anythin' happen to him. Sure we took a few licks, we both hit good, but no way was I gonna bust his ass."

"He _made_ you and Daryl fight?" She asked quietly, the thought making her feel nauseous.

Merle let his arm drop loosely to his side and let go of his grip on her, stepping back a pace instead. He felt confused as to how her closeness made him feel, and he didn't want to dwell on it. "Is what I said sister, ye gone deaf?" he growled.

Carol stayed leaning against the tree, her hand rubbing at her shoulder. "What about Glenn? Maggie?" She asked quickly, not really wanting to understand his reasoning, but wishing to drive the conversation while his mindset was focused.

Merle scowled at her largely, "Glenn? An' that sweet lil thing of a farmers girl?" He laughed again, "Shit, I don't owe them nothin'. Fuck all. I don't regret what I did, and don't go expecting me to."

"You beat Glenn up!" Carol choked out. "You almost killed him."

"Whatcha expect? I was pissed off! Kim chi left me up on that rooftop with Mr. Yo and the rest of them spineless fuckin pussies. You really expect me to forgive them _for that_? I lost my fuckin hand 'cause of 'em. When I found them, that chink kid was hardly gonna volunteer where Daryl was. So yeah, I took 'em both right back to Woodbury. I wanted answers, so I tried a little 'friendly persuasion'. Kid did surprise me though, beat off that biter I threw at him. He looks so small an' sneaky, but he's a tough lil son of a bitch. He'll get over it."

Carol felt sick at his answer, felt sick that he had felt the need to resort to violence to achieve his ends. It seemed that was all he knew, and she felt sadness sneak up inside her. Daryl and Merle both, what their past lives before the turn must have been like. She wasn't surprised to feel a sudden bolt of anger and sympathy surge through herself. They were all victims, herself included.

A sudden sound reached her and she moved her head trying to locate its source. She felt the skin on her arms prickle, her breath catch in her throat. "Merle," she hissed suddenly, "Shut up."

His eyes flashed angrily at her, "Woman, don't ya tell me to shut..."

She turned on him, grabbing his arm and touching his lips with one finger. "Listen."

Merle cocked his head, his ears straining, then he heard it. Voices, male, coming through the trees, slightly muffled, and from the sound of it, there were a few of them. He looked at her grimly, "Stay here mouse, let me check this out."

"No, I'm coming with you," she let go of his arm and stood back from him, waiting, her hand skimming and then resting on the gun tucked into the waistband of her pants.

"No, you ain't. I'll keep you safe. Jus' you stay here an' wait for me, I ain't gonna be gone long." He stared at her in warning, and then he nodded curtly before creeping towards the voices, palming his gun to his hand.


	10. Chapter 10

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

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><p>Merle crouched and watched from his vantage spot of a large overgrown bush, his eyes on two men a small distance from where he was hidden. He held his breath, narrowing his eyes as he thought on what to do. His main concern was the woman hidden, he hoped, safely away some distance from him. He knew that he wouldn't let these men live...and even if that spelled bad fucking news for him, it would be worth it just to keep her safe. He felt he was on borrowed time anyway, so what the hell. Besides, these assholes didn't deserve any damn thing, he knew this now from his brief time at the prison. He let his caught up breath release quietly in one long drawn out sigh, and made his move.<p>

"Long way from home, ain'tcha boys?" He called out as he stepped from beneath the shrub he'd used as cover. A grin stretched across his face as he watched the two men wrestle with a moldering female walker in a flowing tattered mud smeared dress. "Gonna use that pig sticker? Or ya thinking of jus' tickling that biter?" The mans knife fell to the floor as one of the biters arms flailed maddeningly around. Merle watched, he knew those men, recognised them as wanna-be soldiers from Woodbury, and he felt a hard grim determination seep through him as he saw the surprised little looks they gave him.

"Merle," said one grimly calling over his shoulder, "You're a dead man, you fucking asshole."

"I don't doubt that, but ya'll gonna die long time 'fore I do," Merle let his eyes rake across the man, the grin plastering firmly on his face. "Oh hell," he cackled, watching the other man-he'd forgotten his name and the truth be told, he found he didn't actually give a fuck. The way he was wrestling that biter, he'd soon be dead anyways. "You need'a put that bitch down!" he jeered mirthfully.

The second guy glanced at him warily, his eyes quickly sweeping from him to the other man that was now down on the ground, the biter sprawled half across the top of him, teeth all a snapping as he struggled with one hand under its neck, pushing it upwards as his other hand reached out for his dropped knife.

"Greg, for fuck's sake help..." yelped the man on the floor.

"Shit," Greg hissed and he rushed towards his fallen comrade, his sneakered foot carelessly kicking the knife across the ground.

"Buncha pussy assed amateurs," Merle taunted, stepping nearer and raising the gun in his hand.

"You gonna help us?" Greg fumbled with the knife in his belt, hissing in frustration as he couldn't tug it free, deciding instead to reach down and tug at the female walker.

Merle shrugged, "Why the fuck do ya think I'm gonna go an' help two numb nuts like yourselves? I'm findin' that kinda _ironic_." He squinted with one eye and took steady aim, before loudly popping a bullet firmly through Greg's forehead. "Mhm," he sighed, raising his eyebrows as he watched the man slump heavily and land on top of the biter. "Kid I dunno know yer name, and if I'm honest, I really don't give a rats ass, but it sure looks like yer screwed." He watched as the biter clawed at the mans face, the loud snap and splattering crunch as its teeth finally connected with flesh and bone, and he lowered his gun, nodding at the young man as he heard his frantic howls of anguish and pain.

He heard a soft rustle come from the bushes behind him, and he spat loudly and cursed silently, as he glanced over his shoulder. Damned if that little mouse hadn't done as she was told. He'd caught sight of her face, her wide eyes, and in that split second, he'd seen that her gun was in her hand. He dragged his gaze away, not noticing a third man slip silently to his side, and he didn't see until it was too late the barrel of a gun slam viciously to his temple. He landed heavily on his knees in the dirt, his prosthesis slowing his fall, the blade stabbing awkwardly into the soft ground. His gun spun from his hand, landing softly in the leaf debris.

"What tha fuck?" he spat angrily.

"Exactly," a voice droned thickly behind him, "You old asshole, you should have just stayed gone. I know for a fact that the Governor will be more than happy to see your ugly face, or your head, I guess it doesn't matter so much to him."

Merle laughed. "'I bet he would, shame that jus' ain't gonna happen, ya piece of chicken shit." He knelt in the dirt, his hand grasping at the soft earth. There was a soft sudden swoosh, and then he felt white hot pain as a boot slammed hard into his face, and he groaned as he thought he felt his nose break under the quick pressure, his blood spraying out warm and thick, gushing down his cheeks and chin.

He felt a hand grab at his shirt collar, and for a moment, he tiredly concluded _that __this really __was it_, this was gonna be the goddamned end for him, and he thought sullenly of all the things he'd done and of all the thing's he'd never done, and he wondered idly if anyone would actually give a fuck, or even miss him.

A loud crack of gunshot rang out, breaking into the quiet, the only other sound his rasping ragged breathing, and dimly he thought he heard a bird somewhere above screaming its fear far into the trees. A second shot rang out, and he was mildly aware of the rigid pressure that had been around his neck had now eased and fallen away, and then the dull solid thud of a body smacking against the ground. He let his eyes close, wondering what exactly was the fucking point of anything.

A hand reached down, tugging and pulling at his arm, trying to pull him to his feet, and he raised his head sluggishly, looking with total bewilderment at the woman stood near to him.

Carol shoved her gun back into the waistband of her pants, and knelt on the ground next to him, her one hand catching gently across the back of his head. "Get up Merle, please," she demanded, and as he met her gaze, he saw fear shining largely and luminously in her eyes. He retrieved his gun, and struggled back to his feet, watching as she stood undecided over the body, her knife appearing suddenly in her hand.

"Don't Carol. Leave 'em," he rasped, "Let the fuckers turn. I don't care."

Her eyes widened again, and she said quietly, "We can't just leave them like that, it's not who we are."

He shoved his gun into his pants, and quickly wiped the dirt off his blade on to his thigh. He reached out quickly and grabbed at her arm, his grip tight. "Don't ya dare for one minute think what the outcome of _this_ would've been if they'd gotten hold of ya. I _know_ what that sick fuck wanted to do to Maggie," he swallowed thickly as her gaze caught his, the hot flash of anger and understanding in her blue eyes. "Would've been worse for you. I don't care what ye fuckin' think of me right now, but I wasn't gonna let that happen to _y__ou_. These people...they would've killed me, and taken you back to the Governor. So no, don't ya fuckin' dare. Let 'em turn."

Merle saw with some small satisfaction that she had re-sheathed her knife, and he turned away from her, hacking up a thick clot of blood, spitting it out over the corpse. His hand slipped down her arm, grabbing at her hand, pulling her with him as he turned quickly on his heel. "Let's move our asses... biters gonna come, what with that pretty show of gunfire ya put up. Although, there's at least one biter that's gonna be pretty busy," he indicated with his prosthesis the lone female walker that was slowly devouring one of the fallen men. "Heh...with any luck, others will jus' see that free for all biter-buffet I jus' ever so kindly donated to."

They ran back through the woods for a while, until the wheeze of his breath bubbling out of his nose left him panting for his breath. He slowed up, letting her hand go, and rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand.

"You're hurt," she stated blankly, moving closer to him.

"It ain't nothin," he mumbled, despite the harsh sting of the reopened cut on the bridge of his nose. Blood trickled down his cheek, his temple and he swatted at it with his hand, glancing down at the crimson smeared darkly across his palm.

"Here, let me look at you," her voice was low and full of concern.

"Told ya woman, it ain't nothin," he sighed irritably again, alarm tinging his voice as he saw that she was stood a lot closer to him now than he'd originally thought. His breath felt heavy in his lungs, and he exhaled, the sound whistling through his bust up nose. "Never was a pretty boy," he grumbled, "An' now look at me, ain't I jus' delightful?"

Her hand touched at his cheek, and he flinched. "Don't be so stubborn Merle," she said softly, frowning as her fingers fluttered against his skin.

Merle fought against the sudden lump in his throat as he looked at her, as he felt her touch. She was staring up at him and he was damned if he couldn't see tears misting in those pretty eyes of hers. He felt tightness grow in his chest at her closeness, he felt trapped and he wanted to rage at her, push her away and tell her to get the fuck out and just leave him the hell alone. But when he glanced at her again, saw those tears shimmering in her blue eyes he felt something loosen up inside of him. The anger he wanted so badly to feel didn't come, instead it twisted into something else, something he didn't totally believe he could feel, and it scared him. "I ain't worth your pity, save it for some fucker more deservin'," he said tightly.

She shook her head at him, "Why are all you Dixon's the same? You and your brother, you're both stubborn, hot headed asses."

He just grunted at her in reply, then froze as she wiped at the blood on his chin with the cuff of her shirt, her touch so light and gentle, and he found himself suddenly wondering if she would notice the heady thrum of blood pounding at his temple. He twisted his head away from her, holding himself rigid as her other hand came up and cupped his cheek. She stared at him defying him to move again, even so much as tut tutting at him as she resumed wiping the blood off his skin. He let himself grow still, hardly daring to breath, trying to avert his eyes from the gentleness he saw in hers, instead staring resolutely over the top of her head. "Jus' stop it woman," he hissed weakly at her.

"No Merle I won't," She looked up at him and he was terrified to see a tear trickle down her cheek. "You could have died, you idiot." Her breath hitched loudly and Merle suddenly thought that facing a whole herd of biters would have been a lot more easier to deal with than this woman crying tears for _him_. He wasn't worthy of any of that shit. Nobody had ever cried for him.

"Ain't 'aving no bitch cry boo hoo tears for ole Merle. Didn't ask for your pity an' I sure as hell don't deserve, or want it. Jus' go an' save it sister," he sneered spitefully, wanting her to just move the hell away from him before he did something that they might both just regret.

She glanced at him sadly, shaking her head, before letting her hand slip slowly from his cheek to rest firmly on his chest, her fingers splayed out, cool against the warmth of his skin.

He glanced down at her hand, his eyes narrowing heatedly, "I'm tellin' ya. You wanna get the hell away from me woman, leave me the shit alone," he growled. "I ain't nothin' good." Frustration seethed in his chest as she didn't move, and he pushed against her, shoving at her, and although she moved backwards a step with him, she still didn't move away, and her small hand still rested against his chest. He smothered a growl, raising his arm to push her away again, but wondering and hating himself as his arm slipped unbidden around her waist, pulling her closer. He felt the sudden stab of a headache pound before his eyes, and he cursed himself, and her more. As much as he didn't want to acknowledge it to himself, she felt _so __damned __good_ all pressed up against him. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the little inner voice that was laughing and jeering at him, calling him a weak assed fuckin' pansy, and he was getting himself all worked up for nothing more than a cheap piece of skirt. But he knew it was a lot more than that- she wasn't _just_ a piece of skirt. She'd earned his begrudging respect and more, and he was damned if he would act on his impulses...if only she would...

His eyes fluttered open in disbelief as he felt the whisper of a kiss at the side of his mouth and as he looked down at her, she stood back off her tiptoes and gave him a small little smile that did more than warm the hardness of his heart. Trepidation curled uneasily in his stomach, and his arm pushed her more firmly to him. He lowered his head slowly, his lips nothing more than a breath away from skimming across hers. He discovered that he badly wanted to know if she tasted as sweet as she sounded.

"Merle?" He froze as he heard a familiar voice reach him, and he glanced down at the woman in his arms, their faces less than an inch apart. "Where are ya, ya big dumb son of a bitch?"

Booted feet kicked through the thick undergrowth hurriedly, and turning his head from hers, Merle glanced over Carol's shoulder feeling her stiffen suddenly against his chest, and then he saw him. Daryl suddenly appeared through the treeline, standing there, his hand hesitantly tugging at the strap of his crossbow on his back, and he wasn't alone. That annoying fucking asshole sheriff was stood just behind him. He stifled back a groan of resentment as he watched as Rick looked at him thoughtfully, the gun in his hand lowering ever so slowly.

"Took ye long enough, baby brother," he grinned suddenly at Daryl. Reluctantly he lowered his arm from her, feeling a sliver of regret slip through him as she stepped back. She briefly glanced back at him, offering him another small tight smile, and Merle found his blood pulse thickly at her look.

Daryl edged closer, his eyes squinting and dragging from Carol to him, and then back again to her.

"Asshole," Daryl grunted, as Rick moved over to where Carol stood.

"Are you alright?" Rick asked her quietly, his eyes firmly pivoted on the man stood just behind her.

Merle paced over angrily. "Course she's alright, what the hell did ya expect, Officer fuckwit?" He shrugged as he felt the other mans hot hateful glare. "Whoa," he chuckled, spreading his arms upwards, "Gonna arrest me? Gonna bust my ass and handcuff me? Well shit, ya already been gone an' done that," he spat waving his prosthetic arm wildly in the air.

"Don't tempt me Merle," Rick said as he placed one hand on Carol's shoulder, giving her a small squeeze. "Did he..?"

"Jesus Rick," she said abruptly, edging away from him so his hand flapped briefly at empty space. "He didn't do anything."

"Didn't look'it, from what I saw," Daryl drawled. He glared at Merle, "If ya touched her, hurt her, I swear..."

Merle huffed and looked as indignant as he felt. _Well damn_, he thought, _jus' look at lil bro._ "You gonna swear _what, boy_?" He laughed again as he saw Daryl's eyes hit the earth, refusing to look at him. "What ye gonna do, huh?"

"Stop it Merle," Carol said softly as she walked across to his brother. Daryl glanced up at her, a small smile playing about his lips.

Merle felt disappointment well up inside him as he watched them together. Carol's hand, the hand that had been on _him_ a few moments ago was now resting on his little brothers arm, and he was surprised to see that his brother didn't so much as flinch from her touch. _I'll be __g__oddamned_. His shoulders slumped wearily, "Ah hell...whatever," he sneered.

"You know, I actually am half tempted to 'cuff him and leave him for the walkers," Rick said almost brightly, tilting his head to one side staring at Merle narrowly, before turning on his heel and striding through the woods.

Merle huffed again, "You ain't got balls big enough p...Rick," he called out.

"Merle, just shut the fuck up brother," Daryl glowered, "I wouldn't blame him if he did, ya never do yaself any goddamned favors."

Carol's hand was still on his little brothers arm, and Merle watched as she ever so gently propelled him along the path, following after that shitty sheriff. His mouth twisted downwards sourly, and ignoring the sudden little spear of jealousy that spiked in his gut, he followed after them, never taking his eyes off the woman walking ahead with his brother.

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><p><em>an: I'd like to say a quick thank you to everyone that has reviewed and favorited/followed this story...and another special thank you to wildcow258 for giving me the idea of putting Daryl and Rick into this chapter-my original intention was not to have these two in it, but I think it kind of worked out well enough :)_

_Also I know that this is a quick chapter, and I usually take a little more time in posting updates-but I guess having a day off work, and feeling somewhat sickly has it uses for writing fanfics._


	11. Chapter 11

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

_a__/n: I guess from now on in, I will be steering away a bit off canon, and going a little __more __AU, although the main plot of the story will remain mostly the same. Also, I have moved the __first __little scene with Beth from a later episode to here, as I felt it fitted __in __better in regards to my story line. __S__ome of the dialogue I have altered, I didn't really __feel happy __just quot__ing__ direct__ly__ from the series._

_Again I'd like to give a heartfelt thank you to everyone who is still following this little story...I hope it doesn't disappoint._

* * *

><p>They hadn't been back at the prison for at least twenty whole minutes before it had all massively kicked off. Carol had walked into the cell block with Daryl at her side, Rick just in front and Merle trailing along behind, when she heard rather than saw Glenn slam angrily out of his cell. His face was contorted with a wild fury that Carol had never seen before, and he had almost leaped across the floor, slamming into Merle, almost knocking the man off his feet.<p>

"_What the hell is he doing back __here __again__?_"Glenn yelled as his hand curled into a tight fist and smacked sharply across the older man's jaw. Merle stepped back a pace, raising his hand to swat at his face. Glenn punched at him, his fist connecting solidly, and Carol watched aghast as Merle's face spilled with fresh blood, feeling a horrified stunned shock flood through her.

Maggie's voice, loud and shrill echoed across to them, "Leave him Glenn, just stop this!" the sound of her feet urgent as she flew down the stairs. "He isn't worth it!"

Glenn raised his hand again, but this time Merle blocked it with his prosthetic arm, his hand coming out and grabbing at the younger man's shirt, twisting it and shoving at the Asian roughly, almost pushing him off his feet and slamming him firmly against the wall. "Don't you touch me boy, don't you fuckin' touch me!" Merle's face was contorted in rage and he spat at the younger man as he thrust his chin out at him. He smacked his prosthesis at the wall above Glenn, dodging his head neatly to the side as Glenn tried to headbutt him. "Sneaky lil fuck," Merle shouted.

Carol tore her gaze from them, and stared bleakly across to the dark ebony woman keeping her distance in the background. She was stood casually leaning against a table, the katanna in her hand pointed blade first to the ground. Her dark eyes were cold and dispassionate, and she dismissed Carol with a curt glance, turning her head as she caught sight of the question in Rick's eyes, "This isn't my quarrel."

Rick palmed his hand swiftly across his brow and spun abruptly from her to Merle, stepping forward as Daryl pushed past him, the hunters hand snatching and grabbing at his brothers shirt. "Merle, c'mon," he hissed, "Don't do this."

Carol was dimly aware that she could hear the baby screaming in the background, and she tried to step past the brawling men, but Rick's hand came out and caught her sharply, pushing her out of the way.

"Fuckin' chinky bastard," Merle thrust himself firmly against the smaller man, pinning him. Glenn's eyes were still wild and he lunged again suddenly, spitting a thick gobbet of saliva at him, laughing as it dripped down Merle's cheek. "Oh, yer gonna pay for that, you fuckin' lil asshole..."

"Merle, quit it bro, just c'mon man," Daryl pleaded, tugging at him.

"Get the shit off'a me, lil brother, I got business here," Merle seethed.

Rick stepped forward, raising his hand cautiously, gauging Merle's reaction warily, "Let him go, and step away slowly..."

"An' fuckin' what? Officer finally gone an' grown a spine? Gone an' grown some _man_ balls?" Merle laughed sourly, his grip tightening on Glenn's shirt, holding him squarely to the wall.

Carol watched, her hand covering her mouth, desperately wanting to step in and stop all this sheer madness, but not knowing what, or how to do it.

Maggie just stood there, frozen in place, her face a ghastly ashen white, tears spilling hotly down her cheeks. "Let him go Merle, please just let him go," she sobbed, her breath hitching.

Nobody noticed the small blonde girl step softly behind them all, nobody heard the faint tread of her cowboy boots as they scuffed across the floor, and nobody even saw as she raised the small gun in her hand above her head, but they all heard the loud shot of gunfire ricochet off the ceiling. Silence fell, and all eyes flew across the room to her.

Beth stood there firmly, lowering her gun. A defiance blazed furiously in her large blue eyes, and she glanced almost sheepishly as she saw Hershel hobble his way out on his crutches towards her. "I'm sorry daddy," she said quietly and quickly, smiling and lowering her eyes as her father rested a proud hand on her shoulder.

Merle pushed his way off Glenn, letting the younger man's shirt fall from his fist, "Pussy," he sneered, as he turned and let Daryl drag him away in the direction of his cell.

Carol rubbed at her face with both hands, smearing tears across her cheeks. She looked towards Daryl, and saw the sharp little angry nod he gave her, warning her to keep away.

She glanced as she heard Maggie comforting Glenn, saw her tenderly holding his face with both hands on his temples, and she watched sadly as the other woman gave him a small soft kiss to his forehead. Their eyes met, and Maggie smiled wanly at her, before slipping her arm around Glenn's waist, pulling him gently back to their cell.

**...**

Beth and Hershel had both disappeared a little while ago, and Carol was not overly surprised to find herself suddenly alone in the room. She smacked her hand across her forehead, brushing her palm swiftly across the unruly little curls of hair which she felt mildly embarrassed about the fact they they never just sat right. Her hair was a mess, she was a mess, this whole damned situation was a mess, and she bit at her lip sharply, reminding herself _not_ to cry again.

She stepped over to the little kitchen area, idly thinking that she should do something to keep her mind occupied, but not really wanting to be bothered with any sort of domestic duties.

She heard him before she saw him, and she glanced quickly his way.

"Are ya a'right?" Daryl asked softly, pulling up a chair and sitting down, his elbows resting on the table top, watching her.

She smiled tiredly at him, "Yes, I'm fine. It's a relief to be back, despite all of _that_ earlier."

Daryl grunted, "Bet ya glad to be back after bein' stuck out there with that jackass brother of mine." He peered at her through his thick fringe of hair, his eyes glinting, "An' ya sure he didn't do anything? I know what he's like, he ain't never treated any woman with respect... an' ye saw what happened with Glenn."

She knew what had happened with Glenn, and it was the one thing that she tried desperately not to think about. Her heart felt torn and battered, and it ached so badly. "He was fine, Daryl," she said quickly. "I assure you." She couldn't help but feel a small shred of irritation at his words. Everyone seemed hell bent on the fact that Merle had done...something, whatever, and the simple fact of it was, he hadn't. Not to her. _Not even __try__to__ kiss you?_ She immediately felt her cheeks start to flame at the thought, and she pushed herself away, turning from Daryl. "I...I should make a start with dinner, I guess."

He laughed, "Woman, ya always cooking." He pushed his chair from underneath him, and walked over to her, nudging her gently with his elbow. "We did live one whole day without yer mothering, ya know," he whispered conspiratorially at her ear, and she couldn't help but give him a small smirk.

She elbowed him back, and he neatly dodged to the side, saying quickly, "Stop."

Carol turned and laughed, the sound dying on her lips as she saw someone stride through the cell block with Carl, Maggie and Glenn. Someone that she didn't even believe was still alive. _Andrea_. She felt words die uselessly on her tongue, and before she could stop herself, she flew across the room, her arms reaching out for the blonde woman.

Andrea smiled at her, tears shining in her eyes, and she pulled Carol into a warm embrace. The two women hugged for a moment, and Carol felt the words gush out of herself suddenly, "After you saved me...I...I thought you were dead, I'm so sorry Andrea!" Her face was buried in the other woman's soft hair, and she felt tears seep down her cheeks. Andrea rubbed at her back briskly, and gave a small laugh, before stepping back and smiling at her warmly.

"Where's Shane?" Andrea asked, her eyes roaming around the room and glancing at the people suddenly and quietly filing in.

"He didn't make it," Carol answered softly.

"Oh God," She whispered. Her eyes flashed across the room again, "And Lori?"

Carol just shook her head, seeing the sad look as Andrea's eyes slipped to the ground. She watched as Rick moved closer to her, with Daryl at his side, and she felt the urgency to just leave them to it. She didn't want to hear Andrea ask who else was missing. She couldn't bear to hear Sophia's and T-Dog's names being listed amongst the dead, and she didn't want to face the sympathetic look that she knew Andrea would surely award her.

She slipped away from them unnoticed, not seeing Merle as he stepped out of his cell, his eyes darkly watching as she flew up the steps to the perch where Judith lay in her crib.

The little baby was a welcome relief and felt such a soothing balm to her aching heart, and she smoothed the baby's fine hair in her fingers, looking up as she saw Andrea step up the stairs to greet her.

"Lori's?" Andrea asked quietly, pausing before touching at the baby's cheek.

"Yeah," Carol answered softly.

"What's she called?"

"Oh, she was named 'Lil Asskicker', for a while."

Andrea laughed suddenly, "Oh Lord, and I bet I know who named her that, Daryl?" she questioned, her brow raising and her lips pulling up into a smirk.

Carol laughed as well, "For a while yes, but her name is Judith. She's been such a blessing."

"Judith," Andrea mused, stroking the baby's cheek. She pulled her hand back, letting it rest briefly on the metal rail of the perch. "I'm going back, to Woodbury. I have to settle this. I can pull Phillip around. This prison, all of you? You aren't any threat to him-he has to see this."

They both stood silent for a while, listening to the baby gurgling and cooing in the make shift crib.

"There's more at stake than you know," Carol said distantly, leaning next to her on the railing, her eyes cast downwards, past the stairs that lead to the main floor.

Andrea glanced over to where Carol was looking, her eyes widening as she saw where the other woman's gaze suddenly lay. "You got to be kidding me, right?" she said in surprise.

Carol levelled her gaze back to her, her brow furrowed and her mouth drawn into a small tight line. "Just do what you have to have to do Andrea."

"But _him_? Carol, why?"

She shrugged sadly, her eyes lighting again on Andrea's briefly, before tearing away to look at the man stood beneath them with his back to the wall.

Andrea laughed, then smothered her mouth with her hand as she saw the sudden hard look Carol shot her. "Jesus Carol...I'm sorry, I-I didn't know. Merle's always been...well _Merle_."

"I don't _want_ Daryl to lose his brother," she said firmly. "After all they've been through. I don't want anything to happen to _any_ of us. You know what you have to do Andrea. Give that man, the Governor, the best damned night of his life, get him to drop his guard and end it."

"You make it sound so easy Carol," Andrea sighed regretfully, "But it's not the case, nothing is ever easy like that."

"You _can_ do this, you _have_ to." She gave the blonde woman a last lingering look, before turning and heading down the stairs.

"What was that all 'bout?"

Carol glanced as Merle pushed himself off the wall, and walked across to her. She didn't pause, she just wanted to get outside and feel the cool air on her face. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she assumed it was from what she had just told Andrea to do. She had almost shocked herself when she had said it, even though it had seemed to be the right thing to say.

Merle's footsteps matched and followed hers, "Oh yeah, I see it, ya gone deaf again woman. I asked ye a damn question. What'cha say to blondie?"

She reached the door and shoved it open, listening to the light squeal of its rusty hinges. Looking up at him, she replied softly, "I gave Andrea some advice...well a suggestion really. How to put an end to all of this."

He frowned at her, then followed her through the door, stopping to push it shut. "Huh."

"You aren't going to give up, are you?" she laughed a little at the way he raised his eyebrows mildly at her, "I'm not going to tell you Merle, so quit asking." She gestured to a metal bench some feet away from them, in the shade.

"Aint'cha afraid someone gonna see us sittin' together?" he smirked.

"Place like this, people will talk about anything. Human nature." She sat down wearily, "Let them."

He sat next to her, close enough that his knee bumped against hers. "Little mouse gettin' mighty brave."

She smiled wanly at him, before shaking her head. "No, I'm not, not really." It wasn't quite a lie, she didn't feel brave at all, not at this moment with everything going on, and him sat so close to her. She didn't know why, but a part of her had felt compelled to see him, wanted to make sure that he was all right – had _missed_ him even, and she could only guess that they must have some sort of weird comradeship after being lost in the woods. Even so, his presence conflicted her as much now as it did then. She sighed, glancing at him. Andrea was right. Nothing was ever easy, nothing was ever just plain old black and white, it always felt that there were far too many shades of gray.

Merle watched her thoughtfully, before nodding his head slightly. He leaned further into his seat, his arm brushing and then resting against hers, as he shifted his injured arm into his lap, his fingers touching and running across the blade.

"It feels like the quiet before a storm," Carol said softly. He only grunted in answer and she peeked at him again. He looked tired, dark smudges prominent under hooded eyes, the lines in his face more pronounced in the shadows than in the light, and she could see the few wisps of gray in the stubble that covered his cheeks and chin. The fresh band-aid on the bridge of his beaten up nose was already soaked crimson. He turned his head, his smoky eyes widening as he met her gaze, and she bit at her lip as she felt the first hint of a blush color her cheeks. She broke eye contact first, her gaze dragging from his to stare absently at a few walkers straggling in the distance along the fence line. Her breath caught tightly in her throat.

"I should go," she said quickly, moving to get to her feet, stopping as his hand snaked out and caught hers. She looked at him questioningly as he tugged her back down to the seat.

"Can't ya jus' sit quiet with me, jus' for a while longer?" he asked huskily, his eyes darting from hers to the concrete. His mouth had taken on a sullen cast, and she wondered if he had taken her unspoken query as hesitation, or rejection. "Ah hell, if you wanna go, jus' fuck off then. I don't need ya here. I seen how they all look at me, why the hell would _you_ look at me any fuckin' differently," he spat, anger coloring his voice.

She frowned and sat back heavily in the seat, half curious at the fact that her hand was still in his. Uncertainty struck her, and she held her breath as she let her thumb brush casually across the knuckles of his fingers, feeling his grasp stiffen, then relax and catch hold of hers more firmly. "I didn't say I was going Merle."

He turned his head and regarded her silently, and she felt a pang as she saw that he didn't so much as smile, or show any other emotion, other than this tired half glazed look. If she hadn't had known any better, she would have thought he was drugged up-but she knew better than that. He had been clean for a good while now, plus there wasn't anything stronger than codeine at the prison, and Hershel kept that safely monitored at all times. She then realized with a heavy heart that he had the haunted wary look of a beaten dog.

It was then that she remembered Glenn's words from before...ones that she hadn't meant to overhear-an obviously private conversation he'd had with Rick, but the younger man had been so angry he'd almost been spitting out and tripping over the words. He'd wanted to trade Merle off to the Governor, hoping that the action of giving that man his 'traitor' would appease him so much that he would leave the prison group alone. She had felt sick at hearing this, although part of her still couldn't entirely blame him for what Merle had done...but she also knew that sending Merle back to Woodbury would certainly mean his death. She had been gripped by frustration, knowing that if Rick had agreed then at that moment, there wouldn't have been a damned thing she, or anyone else could have done. And now seeing the haunted look that Merle gave her, which scared her a lot more than she possibly thought...she wondered if he'd heard that same damned conversation.

She blinked rapidly against the tears in her eyes, and turned her head away from him, so that he wouldn't see. She knew he hated weakness, he would just get all grumpy and irritable with her, but at this moment, she really didn't think that she could quite cope with that. He must have realized something was wrong though, because his hand was clutching hers more firmly, and she wished then that she had just gone when she had meant to. She hated crying as it was-she had spent too much of her past doing just that.

She heard him call her name, and she glanced down at her lap, shaking his hand away. Raising hers, she swiped at her face, resenting the tears, fearing his reaction. She felt him move against her and his rough fingers caught and lifted her chin, swivelling her head firmly to face him, but she still refused to raise her eyes and look at him.

"Ah hell," he murmured awkwardly, "Shush it sugar. I told ya before that I ain't worth no damned tears, an' shit...I really ain't worth _any_ of yours."

"Well, I'm sorry," she grimaced.

He just grunted at her, and she idly thought that Dixon men seemed to spend a lot of their time doing just _that_, when she felt herself being shoved hard against his chest, his arm sneaking around her shoulders, pushing and holding her there. Her hand flew out and caught at his chest. She swallowed nervously as she felt his heart beat against her palm, her nose buried so deeply into his collar bone, that she could smell the scent of stale sweat and oil clinging to him. His hand came round and smoothed at her hair, his head resting against hers, his lips almost touching the tip of her ear, and she imagined that he give out a small soft sigh, probably in irritation with her, she thought tiredly.

The door squeaked open loudly on rusty hinges, and Carol jumped out of the seat, Merle standing hurriedly alongside her, his hand dropping to the small of her back. Daryl stood there with one hand still on the opened door, his face a mask of confusion.

He paced nearer, frowning. "What ya gone and done now, Merle?" he hissed, glancing at Carol. "Yer a fuckin' asshole, making her cry? That make ya feel big, huh?"

"Didn't do any damned thin', boy," Merle bristled indignantly.

Daryl moved closer to Carol, standing in front of her almost protectively, "I'm warnin' ya Merle," he growled, stabbing his finger out at him.

Carol laid her hand on Daryl's shoulder feeling the muscle bunched tightly under her palm, "Really Daryl, you have this all wrong, I was upset, but it wasn't Merle..." He turned his head to hers, staring into her eyes. "Really," she offered him a small smile, "It wasn't him."

Merle scuffed his boots on the hard ground, his gaze narrow and unflinching. "Told ya, little brother..."

Daryl shook his head at Merle, "I wouldn't put anythin' past ya. Ya dumbass."

Carol glanced up as Glenn stepped suddenly and warily through the door, his eyes squinting in the sun, his gaze dragging uncertainly across where the three of them stood. "It's Andrea. She's going now, back to Woodbury, if you want to say goodbye."

Merle brushed past them, muttering angrily under his breath, and Carol watched as he strode off. She let a pent up sigh escape her, and felt a hand touch gently at her arm. Daryl stood looking at her, his intense blue eyes briefly turning from hers to watch after his brother. He gave her a small grim look, and pulled her with him, chasing after Merle, Glenn following a short distance behind them.

The car was thick grimed with mud, and Carol watched as Andrea stood there, one hand holding the door open. She wasn't sure what had happened with the blonde woman and Rick, but she saw the saddened anxious look on Andrea's face and the wary grimness on his. She sighed, watching as Andrea got in and pulled the door shut, watching as Rick leaned down to the open window, handing her a gun and knife. She had a feeling that she would never see Andrea again.

Andrea glanced in the drivers rear view mirror, and Carol almost swore she could see the tears brimming in her eyes. She started the engine and drove, only stopping for Merle to unlock and push the rattling gate open. Carol gave one last look as Andrea drove away, feeling a small part of her die as the other woman sped away. She hoped fervently that Andrea would take her words to heart, and finally put an end to all of this.

**...**

Later that night, as dusk fell heavily, shrouding the prison, they all congregated in the cell block. A small camping lantern lit and partly lifted the heavy darkness, and as Carol watched, she saw Beth sit there almost shyly, open her mouth and start to sing. The sad haunting lilt twisted her heart, and she held her arms about her knees, her gaze flickering across to Glenn and Maggie sitting with their arms about each other as they listened to the sweet, sad song.

There was a deep silence as the last notes echoed around the hard concrete walls, and Carol was aware that Merle stood leaning against the wall, not far from where she sat. She looked over at him, trying to read his face, but he was cast in thick shadows, and he turned and padded softly away.

Carol got to her feet, and she walked across to Beth, her hand coming down to softly touch the young girl's shoulder. "That was a beautiful song Beth, thank you," she said earnestly. Beth gave her a shy little smile, which Carol returned, before stiffening up and following after Merle into the shadows.

She hurried up to him, seeing that he had paused to glance over his shoulder at her. She caught at his arm, stepping closer to him. "Where are you going?"

Merle regarded her silently, before reaching out his hand and brushing his knuckles softly against her cheek. "Ye know, listening to that girl sing, the lil blondie, made me realize that things jus' don't sit right with me no more." His hand dropped back to his waist, and he let out a sigh, before walking steadily away from her. "I need to think."


	12. Chapter 12

****Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.****

_A/n: I would like to apologize if I have caused any confusion with this chapter. I had posted before, and after re-reading it, I decided to pull it off the site within a few hours, as I realized that I was just rushing the story line along way too fast. I think I was so consumed with trying to closely follow the time lines in the series, that I completely lost all my direction and aim. So, I want to say a huge huge thank you to wildcow258 and ArcheryLefty for all your encouragement, precious words of wisdom and for giving me back my passion and drive for this story. _

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><p>...<p>

Merle lay on his bunk and groaned loudly, covering his eyes with his arm, wishing that for just another five more goddamned minutes everyone would just shut the hell up. He hadn't slept so well the night before, had listened to every little sound as the prison had slowly wound down and gone to sleep for the night. He had heard the steady thud of Rick's cowboy boots as the man had paced about restlessly, patrolling the floor every few minutes, and at one point he had wanted to rip those damned boots off him and ram them firmly up his ass. Anything to stop that constant irritating clack of his boots.

He rose off his bunk, walking steadily as sounds from the small kitchen area reached him. His eyes flashed narrowly as he took in the occupants of the room, relenting and softening as he saw Daryl sitting there with his back to him. Carol was stood at the small cooking hob, her face peaceful as she mindlessly stirred at a pot that he couldn't quite discern at the contents.

He paced stealthily across the room, pausing to nod at his brother, and press a finger briefly to his lips as he glanced across to the woman that stood there completely oblivious.

Daryl looked up at him, then shook his head, his eyes watching carefully.

Merle found that he just couldn't help himself as he sneaked across and stood silently behind Carol, glancing over her shoulder at the big pan of oatmeal she was stirring slowly. "What the hell is that?" he rasped loudly, smirking to himself as she jumped at the sound of his voice.

"It's breakfast, Merle," she answered, a little too breathlessly. "Keep that attitude up and you can go without."

He stepped away from her and headed off to one of the tables. Daryl was already sat there, chomping his way merrily through a bowl of the gray gruel. "Is that a promise?" he asked sweetly, looking back at her.

She just gave him a smile, her eyes almost sparkling and Merle found that he didn't mind that little look at all. Not one bit. He tore his gaze from hers. "Shove up Darlina," he grunted, pulling up a chair next to his brother. "Ye really eatin' that crap?" he asked quietly, frowning.

Daryl paused, the spoon half way to his mouth, and he glanced sideways at him, nodding. "Is good, man."

Merle huffed in answer, then watched as Carol walked across to where they sat, his eyes dropping briefly to the small amount of curve he could see as her long shirt flapped loosely away from her sides. He was mildly aware that Daryl had dug his elbow into him. "What?" he hissed. "Ain't _you_ ever copped a look?"

"Excuse me?" Carol placed his bowl and spoon in front of him, looking at him with raised brows, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Said compliments to the cook," Merle said smoothly, ignoring the hard glance from his side. He picked his spoon up and dubiously raised a loaded spoonful up to his mouth. "Looks real fuckin' great," he said unenthusiastically.

"Just eat it ya dumbass," Daryl smirked at him, then resumed eating.

A chair was pulled abruptly from across where they sat, and Merle glanced over as he saw Hershel stood there leaning his crutches to the table top while he scooted his body into a chair. "Son, we are grateful for what we have, for what the Good Lord provides us with." Hershel smiled his thanks as Carol stepped over to him, passing him a bowl.

Merle rolled his eyes at that, then felt his arm being pushed at, but he ignored it, instead concentrating on trying to force the warm slimy food down his throat. Daryl nudged him sharply again, and he turned so quickly that he dropped the spoon with a clatter, most of the oatmeal sliding off the spoon on to the table, then into his lap. Merle growled and flicked his brother across the ear with his finger. "What the fuck little brother?"

"Going hunting after, if ya wanna come Merle," Daryl didn't look at him, just placed his spoon back into his empty bowl, and pushed it back across the table.

Merle felt surprised, but didn't let himself show it, "Huh, sure."

Daryl got to his feet, glancing down at him and nodding briefly. "A'right. Have a watch shift now, gonna relieve Maggie and Glenn." He paused, his eyes on Merle, then he quickly picked his crossbow off the floor, shoving the straps across his back as he walked out.

Merle pushed himself abruptly to his feet, the sudden need to be out of the room before Glenn and Maggie came in itching at him strongly. He brushed the sodden oatmeal off his pants irritably, raising his eyes as he heard Rick walk into the room. He didn't really have to look up to know who it was, he'd recognize that damned boot tread in his sleep by now.

"Do you want breakfast, Rick?" Carol asked, and Merle let his eyes drag over to her again, watching as she smiled at the shitty sheriff. Rick just shook his head, and Merle thought that was the first wise thing that man had done. No doubt, oatmeal certainly wasn't something he'd ever enjoyed.

"Merle?" Rick asked suddenly.

The urge just to walk off and completely ignore him was so damned strong, but as he looked up again, his eyes met Carol's and he felt compelled to let his feet just root to the spot. "What?" he answered succinctly.

"We need a hand at the gate, at the fences. We need them cleared of the walkers, and I was hoping that you would help. Carl is at the gate now. I'm sure you wouldn't mind helping him." Rick fixed him with a pointed look.

Merle could see the question in Carol's blue eyes, could see that she was almost urging him to agree. "Whatever," he sighed wearily. It wasn't lost on him at all that Rick had said, 'we need a hand'. Merle wanted to knock him off his feet. Instead he just stared at Rick for a split second longer than was required, before clenching his teeth and walking out of the prison block.

...

"Did you have an accident?" Carl asked as he stepped out into the sunlight. Merle frowned at the boy, then glanced down at himself. He had a small damp patch right at the groin of his pants.

"Very fuckin' funny kid. No I didn't," he grimaced. "Had a fight with Carol's cooking, and it won."

Carl looked at him mildly, his hand reaching up and pushing at the brim of the overly large sheriffs hat sitting on his head. Merle mused that the kid had no sense of humor, chip off the old block and all that shit. "Killed biters before, boy?"

"I'm a good shot, ask my dad," Carl said proudly, resting his hand on the holster at his waist.

"Hell...are ya even old enough to use that?" Merle hissed in surprise. Shit, what was the world coming to when the kid was packing firepower, and he wasn't? "Ain't using no guns, waste of a bullet." He felt a prickle of dread curl in his stomach- he'd nearly repeated word for word what they'd all been taught back in Woodbury all that time ago. He sickeningly wondered how long it would be before he could shake that devil _Philip __f__uckin__'__ Blake _off his back.

"I am old enough. I mean, my mom wasn't very happy when Shane said I could use it."

Merle felt a smile curl at his lips, "Is that right, huh?" Yeah, he bet his mom and Rick hadn't had been so happy with that old dog teaching their son a few new tricks. "Bet'cha miss him, don't ya?"

Carl shook his head, "Not really. He threatened my dad, so I shot him."

Merle nearly tripped over his own feet as he walked over to the gate. "Yer shittin' me kid?" He glanced at Carl and was surprised to see the indifference in the young boys bright eyes. "Huh. Well, jus' you keep that gun stashed. Don't need it anyway. Gonna pig stick these biters."

He watched as Carl pulled a long knife from his belt, and nodded at him curtly before stepping to the gate, rattling it loudly with his hand. He felt a grim satisfaction as a few of the biters turned their heads slowly, their filthy hands reaching out towards them greedily as they lumbered across to the gate. "C'mon ya ugly bitches," he jeered, quickly grinning at Carl, "Ooh, look at that one, looks like she jus' wants a damn good poke from ole Merle." He laughed as the biter thrust its rotting hands at him, before thrusting the blade on his arm swiftly through its eye socket, pulling the blade free with a succulent squelch and spray of sticky blood.

He stabbed at a few more, chuckling as the bodies crashed into tangled moldy heaps on to the ground. He glanced quickly across to Carl noting that he was all right, before turning his head and stabbing at a particularly gruesome biter that was trying to press its heavily decomposed face through the fencing. He stared at it, seeing with distaste that as it pressed nearer, its teeth clacking loudly at him, that he could see strips of its mottled gray skin clinging to the metal of the fence. He tapped at it with his blade, watching as its muddy eyes ignored him, then thrust the blade upwards, straight through its stinking throat, the tip of his blade popping audibly outwards from the top its head. Merle pulled his arm back and huffed at it as he watched the body drop, then with his hand he rattled at the gate, quickly moving as a biter raised its clutching fingers and clawed loosely at the spot where his hand had just been. He stabbed at it, slicing it cleanly through its forehead, and then he smacked his hand loudly on the fence, "Hell yeah!" he spat.

The boy was doing pretty well he thought, as he watched as Carl stabbed at the biters along the fence line. Kid didn't exactly have the same reach as he did, on account of him being, well a snotty nosed brat, but shit yeah, he was doing well enough. Merle jeered at them again, "Ya ugly shits, come and get a taste," before thrusting and stabbing merrily at the undead fuckers.

It wasn't long before they had a reasonable enough body count just beyond the fence and gate, and Merle stepped back and briefly swatted at the sweat on his brow. The kid hadn't had seemed to have worked up as much as a sweat. Slacker, he thought, his own body count was way more.

"Shouldn't we, um..." Carl stood hesitantly, holding his knife loosely in his hand. "I mean, there are walkers now blocking the gates and really we should move them." He turned and looked at Merle, his gaze level, "If the others want to use the cars, the bodies are blocking the way."

"Huh, good point," Merle conceded reluctantly. "Gotta unlock the gate first kid, we'll move 'em out'a the way."

Carl had a bunch of keys in his hand, and he stepped quickly forward, unlocking the padlock. He stood there looking up at him expectantly and waiting.

For a second Merle toyed with the idea of just sending the boy out there, let him finally work up a sweat shifting those bodies, before reason settled begrudgingly in him. "Yeah, yeah, don't get yer pantyhose in a knot, I got this."

The gate wobbled and grated alarmingly, before Carl put his shoulder to it and pushed it open just enough for Merle step through. He watched with narrowed eyes as the kid pushed it back shut, his eyes flickering down to the keys in Carl's hand. The boy just nodded back at him, and Merle sighed as he glanced over at the bodies.

There were about six or seven that were actually blocking the path through the gate, and Merle swept his gaze past them and down over the small field that lay beyond. Biters were straggling and milling about, but they were still a reasonable enough distance away for him to be able to do this. He bent down, grunting mildly as he grasped one dirty decaying foot in his grasp and he dragged it across the ground, his eyes half seeing the bloodied imprint it left behind as he pulled the corpse to the side and out of the way.

He glanced down towards the main gates, his eyes alert for any more of the biters, and he saw that they were still some distance away, and from the seems of it, he'd be lucky enough to clear these out the way long before they even noticed he was there. Dumb fucks, he smiled to himself as he grasped another rotting leg and hauled the body across the ground.

It didn't take that long to move the rest of the corpses out of the way, and he was dimly aware that he was sweating and his hand, arms and chest were now covered in stinky congealed goo. He glanced at Carl, who stood there watching him with the keys in his hand, and for one minute, Merle felt a small thrill spread through him as he wondered if the kid would just go and lock him out there. But Carl stepped quickly to the gate, pulling it open and letting him back through. Merle breathed a small quick silent thanks to whatever gods were listening, wiping the drying blood off his blade onto the leg of his pants as he watched Carl finally pull the gate shut and lock it with the padlock.

"Ya did good, kid," he said, briefly patting the boy on his back.

Carl looked at him, before offering him a small tight lipped smile and a slight incline of his head, before he walked away, pushing the keys into his pocket.

…

Merle stunk. And he was painfully aware of the fact that he reeked to high heaven of sweat and biter gunk. He made his way through the prison, thankful for the dimness and coolness of the interior of the prison as he walked his way through to the shower room. For once, he offered a silent thanks to the fact that officer prick had been diligent enough to actually have cleared this place. And as he pulled his dirty clothes off and stepped underneath the cool water, he actually allowed himself a small smile.

He didn't have any shampoo or any of that other girly smelling shit, but he found he didn't mind so much as the water sluiced his body clean. That was until he remembered that he hadn't thought to ask or find any towels to dry himself off with.

Grumbling he shook himself dry as best as he could, before tugging and pulling his clothes back on over his damp body. It would have been much quicker if he still had the use of two hands, and for the millionth time he raged at the loss of his right fuckin' hand. He would never ask for help, asking for help was for fuckin' pussies, and he was damned if he would. Ever. Period.

Feeling somewhat irritable, he strode from the shower block, not even glancing as he collided solidly and firmly with someone who obviously wasn't paying any goddamned attention to where they were going. His breath was rammed out of his chest at the same time as his arm automatically swept out and caught at the woman, shoving her firmly to him. He glanced down, his feet shuffling over each other as he stopped himself from stumbling, and he grinned widely as he saw it was none other than Carol wrapped up in his arms.

"Hey sugar," he felt his voice almost purr out of his chest, and he coughed a little, feeling mildly embarrassed. She looked up at him in sheer alarm, her eyes widening, before she let herself relax moderately in his arms.

"Merle! I didn't see you," she gasped, and he found that he couldn't help but smirk at her.

"What ya doing down here?" he questioned.

"Oh," she looked down, and he saw a faint pink sheen spread across her cheeks. "I...I was going to do the laundry. Carl and Rick have a habit of leaving their dirty towels in the shower room."

He laughed, "You weren't spying on me now, were ya darlin'?"

Carol placed her hands on his arms and pushed herself away from him. "No, no I wasn't," she answered shortly, shaking her head at him.

"Huh," Merle grunted, "Why ya gotta keep on an' disappointin' me? Shit, if ya wanna look, you don't have to be so sneaky 'bout it. I'd let ya peek."

"Really Merle," she laughed, stepping back another pace. Her eyes met his, and he found that he couldn't quite pull his gaze away from hers. For the second time he thought she really did have the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. "I heard you were outside the gates with Carl. Are you alright?" her eyes dropped from his, and dragged briefly across his bloodied clothes. "You didn't get scratched or bitten?"

"Naw, I ain't got no bites on me. Not unless ya wanna put some there?" He quirked an eyebrow at her quizzically.

Carol laughed again, shaking her head at him. He shifted a little on his feet, and she looked at him thoughtfully, her voice quiet as she said, "I'm glad you're okay." He thought he could hear a hint of alarm in her voice.

"Ain't none gonna kill Merle except Merle, sweetheart," he rasped softly, "An' I know jus' what a stubborn fucker he is."

"Don't joke about that, Merle," she said suddenly, and he felt his head pull towards hers at the tone of her voice.

He shook his head at her," I ain't." She smiled at him sadly, and he found he couldn't bear to see the earnest little look she shot him.

She paused, her hand reaching hesitantly out and catching at his. Her hand was cool. Her eyes flashed up at his, a brilliant burst of blue, sending unbidden little spikes that sped through his blood. "Don't you ever joke about that, Merle," she repeated quietly, her hand slipping slowly from his. She offered him another small wan smile and Merle found that he couldn't help but stand transfixed from her gaze.

His eyes followed her until she disappeared from his vision. He swallowed thickly then, and turned away.

...


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Writers block is a purely evil curse!_

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><p>...<p>

Low voices reached across to him as Merle padded softly across the prison floor. He paused briefly, his eyes low and quickly scanning the room, before pushing his back to the wall, his eyes narrowing as he glanced down the corridor. They hadn't seen or heard him, but he heard them all to well-he'd heard the determination in that asshole sheriffs voice.

He huffed quietly to himself as he heard Rick tell Daryl in a low conspiratorial voice to keep an eye on him, as if Merle actually _needed_ to be fuckin' watched over, and least of all by his _own_ goddamned baby brother. Indignation clawed through him as he heard Daryl agree...as he heard his own blood say; _'__I got him__'__._

He leaned further back into the wall. Huh. So Rick was going on a supply run, and taking the black bitch and his boy with him. It mildly surprised him that Rick would feel comfortable to let his guard down enough to trust her around his precious boy. Even though the kid seemed capable Merle mused, the little shit could handle a gun and a knife well enough. Rick wasn't reckonin' on Michonne though, she was _sneaky, _he'd seen that back at Woodbury. He pursed his lips, wondering what Rick would think if he'd actually seen her and her damned pets, and hell...even that biter-gram as inspired as it was, that she'd left as a message back in the woods.

Lifting his right arm, he cradled his prosthesis against his chest, his fingers running smoothly down the knife, before closing and grasping firmly about the blade. He listened warily to Rick's heavy precise booted tread, heard the soft rubber heeled thump of Hershel's crutches move away before he pushed himself off the wall and stepped out into the corridor. He barely glanced as Daryl looked across, instead focusing on just moving towards the heavy prison outer door.

"Merle," Daryl called out, "Wait up." He watched as Daryl jogged up to him, concern on his face. "What's up, man?"

"Ain't nothin' up," Merle turned and pasted a grin on his face as he met his brothers confused gaze.

"Yeah, sure." Daryl looked him up and down, his hand twiddling at the strap of his crossbow. " 'M going hunting, ya still coming?"

Merle roughly draped his good arm across Daryl's shoulder, pulling him closer, "Wouldn't miss it for the world, little brother."

…

They pushed their way stealthily through the undergrowth, and Merle studied Daryl closely. There was a confidence that he could see, and it hadn't been there before, he was damned sure of it, and Merle felt a pang that the time he had been away from him-his brother had changed.

He wondered just what Daryl had gone through, what exactly had brought these changes, but he half guessed at the answer. It was being with _them_ and not _him_ that had done this. He was now something that Merle couldn't be. He wondered if had the circumstances been different- could _he_ have changed as much. He hurriedly bit the thought down-wasn't nobody that would ever gave the likes of him a chance, and if he was totally honest with himself, he didn't really think he deserved any, anyway. He'd done too many shitty things, and now it was just too late. The only person he'd ever cared for, ever gave a single damn about was his baby brother. He didn't want to fuck up that up again-but fucking things up now was far too ingrained. He'd lose Daryl, he always did.

"Merle," Daryl hissed quietly, gesturing up at the trees.

His voice startled him, and Merle glanced up quickly, nodding his head when he saw the small furry little critter sitting without a care on a large thick branch above their heads. He smiled at Daryl when he saw the bolt swoosh from his brothers crossbow, as the small body fell solidly to the ground, impaled with the dart.

Daryl picked the squirrel up, tugging the bolt from its small body, before stringing it at his waist.

"Old times, baby brother, old times," Merle chuckled suddenly.

Daryl twisted his head and grinned back at him, and Merle felt some small pride well up inside of himself. Little brother always had been a damned good shot. He watched as Daryl fixed another bolt to his crossbow. "Ya know one furry little fuck ain't gonna fix dinner. Hell, that ain't nothin' but a bite!" he cajoled.

Daryl huffed at him, but the small grin was still there for Merle to see.

Pretty soon there were five squirrels strung at his brothers waist, and Daryl let out a sigh of impatience. "Lil fucks are all gone hiding."

"Reckon they gone crying to their mammas," Merle said. "Right now, I bet'cha their warning their furry lil brethren 'bout that big ole fearless squirrel hunter, Darlina Dixon."

The smirk on Daryl's face widened, "Shut the fuck up, man." He glanced behind, indicating with his head, "Got a few snares, rabbits, 'ave to check them 'fore we go-"

Merle spun on his heel as a low moan reached them. "I got this," he called out as he pushed past Daryl, shoving his way heavily through low branches that flipped back at him, stinging and smacking at his legs. His face twisted into a small grimace as he watched the undead asshole trip over the undergrowth in its sudden haste to reach them. He quickly reached his arm out and impaled the biter on his blade, his foot kicking out and knocking it to the ground. He stepped over it, pushing the knife of his prosthesis quickly through its skull.

"'Nother one, Merle," Daryl warned, the bolt singing through the air and landing swiftly and solidly through its forehead with a squishy thump, and Merle conceded it was a damn fine shot as he watched the body tumble heavily to the ground. He stepped forward and with his good hand he tugged the bolt free, wiping it quickly on the leaf debris that littered the ground before handing it back.

Merle watched as Daryl paced through the undergrowth, before finding a fallen tree, and sat on it heavily. He set the crossbow on the ground beside his legs, his feet firmly planted on the ground. Merle went across and sat next to him, watching as Daryl tugged a water bottle from his bag, taking it from him when he was offered, and chugging down a few mouthfuls. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and proffered the bottle back. Daryl took a few swigs before he returned the bottle to the depths of his bag.

They sat a while in silence, and Merle glanced about them, listening to the sounds of birds in the distance, the sounds of their boots digging into the soft ground, the slight breeze whispering and rustling leaves in its wake.

Daryl glanced at him through the curtains of his hair, and Merle saw the intense scrutiny his brother awarded him, and he steeled himself against it. "Somethin' eatin' at ya?" Daryl shifted restlessly next to him, and Merle could see the little nervous ticks that his brother would make when he was feeling ill at ease. "You know they're all making a mistake, dont'cha little brother?"

Daryl glanced away, his feet scuffling in the dirt. "Rick's done well by the group so far."

Merle huffed at that. _Yeah, _a_in__'__t that right-shit yeah...Rick always did well by others. Shame he didn't show any damned consideration when he'd been on that fuckin' rooftop hacking his own damn hand off before biters would__'__ve __bust__ their way through that thin __fuckin' __chain that __ha__d__ barred the door._ "He ain't always shown consideration, Daryl. Jus' ya remember that. Left me to die, lost my hand. Not gonna lose my brother to him. Hmm, nope. I've lost enough already."

"You're not losing me," Daryl said quietly. "You just need to make this work Merle. Ya just need ta stop being such a fuckin' ass."

Merle huffed, _fuckin' ass._ "Ain't looking that way to me, Sheriff Rick's got ya tightly by the balls. Leading ya round an' round by them."

Daryl pushed himself of his seat, barely contained anger shimmering, and Merle again wondered at the change in him. "It ain't like that, and ya know it Merle!" he spat. "If it weren't for Rick, I don't reckon half of us would've made it."

"An' I'm telling you, you don't know what the hell yer dealin' with," Merle hissed angrily. "That Governor? Y'all clueless little headless pussy assed chickens where he's concerned. Should make a strike against him now, when he least expects it."

"We're gonna go see him tomorrow, Andrea arranged that meeting, ya know?" Daryl said quietly, "Rick _knows_ what he's doing..."

"Jesus," Merle glanced at him, then shook his head in defeat. Wasn't nobody that was gonna listen to him. "Jus' ya watch your back Daryl. That man's as slippery as a snake. Don't ya never take _no_ chances with him."

"Ain't stupid, Merle," Daryl grunted as he got to his feet. He stood looking at him, before picking his crossbow up off the ground. "Need'a check them snares, c'mon."

"Lead the way, little brother," he said rising stiffly to his feet. "Hope 'em rabbits ain't as reluctant as yer damn squirrels."

"Got five of those little dumb fucks," Daryl smirked, "They weren't so reluctant."

...

They were walking quietly through the woods when Daryl said suddenly, "I seen ya looking at Carol." His voice was low and quiet when he added, "An' I seen her looking back."

"_Huh?"_ Merle felt the air in his lungs suddenly whoosh up and freeze, choking him and he coughed a little trying to free up some air, hoping that Daryl wouldn't notice, that he wouldn't dare look back at him. It didn't help none that his heart had suddenly decided to do an odd little double thump. Shit if the mention of that damned fuckin' woman's name wasn't making him feel flustered and undecided. "_What_ the hell's _that_ supposed to mean 'xactly?" he growled heatedly.

"Just saying is all."

Daryl didn't look at him, just carried on walking in front, and Merle found himself watching his brother with narrowed eyes. He huffed irritably and he couldn't help the childish retort escape him, "Shit...ye want me to look at Rick instead? At that ole man, Hershel? Man, I ain't no fuckin' pansy."

"That ain't what I'm saying, Merle, and ya fuckin' know it." Daryl didn't so much as break a step, although Merle saw that the hand gripping the strap of his bow tightened alarmingly enough that his knuckles glowed white through his tanned and dirt grimed hand.

"Hell, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, little brother. Imagining all sorts of shit," Merle spat.

His brothers voice was firm and unrelenting. "I won't let her get hurt. I know what your like."

"Aint nobody gonna get hurt. Fuck, Daryl, what ya take me for?" He couldn't help but feel a little indignant at that.

"Keep it that way," Daryl glanced over his shoulder at him, and shook his head.

They walked a little further in an uneasy silence, and Merle noticed that now they weren't that far from the prison. He supposed that the snares had been set closer to home so that they'd be easier to keep a check on. He couldn't help but feel a rising panic and a little surprise wash over him at what his brother had said. He needed more time to think... He sighed tiredly, feeling half angry at himself as he couldn't stop the pathetic little swell of hope rise in his chest. _For Christ's sake_ he thought angrily. He needed to avoid her, and he decided that from now on, every opportunity, he would show her _exactly_ what he was. That should push her away, keep her away from him. He didn't need this crap, women were just objects to be used whenever the mutual desire took-it always used to be that way. Was always _easier_ that way. No strings attached and better still, no-one ever really ever got hurt. Who the _fuck_ _exactly_ needed _feelings_ and fuckin' shit like that anyways?

But..._what_ if she'd been looking at him like that...what if-

"Shit!" Daryl hissed, and Merle felt startled for the second time in one day. What the _hell_ was wrong with him?

Daryl was stooped down, his hands pawing through the dirt. He held up a piece of looped wire and dropped it back down in disgust. "Snares empty. Second one now, goddamn it." He got back to his feet, pushing his knife back into his belt. "Squirrel gonna have to do."

"Should get back to the prison Darlina, the lights gettin' against us," Merle said glancing at the darkening skyline.

Daryl rubbed his arm against his forehead, leaving a grimy trail across his damp skin. He sighed heavily, "When we get back...you _know_ what ya gotta do Merle. You need ta apologize to Maggie, to Glenn-ya _need_ ta make things right with them. If ya wanna stay with us at the prison, you need'a make an effort, brother."

"An' what the hell do ya think I been doin'?" Merle hissed, "I'll tell ya somethin', I don't owe Maggie and that chink kid nothin'...least of all a goddamned fuckin' _apology_."

Daryl sighed again softly, and Merle wasn't so stupid that he couldn't help but hear the hurt in his voice. "I just want my brother back, Merle."

…

It was dark when they got back, and as they got to the gate, Merle saw with some sourness that Maggie was there. She gave him a quick snort and a dismissive glance, turning instead to Daryl and offering him a small smile, and Merle felt a surge of resentment. No matter what the fuck he did, it never seemed to make a difference. He thought on his brothers words, _apologize to Maggie and Glenn_...and instantly rejected it. _Like fuck_. All Kim Chi had to do was just tell him where his brother was, instead he'd had to drag their sorry asses back to Woodbury, 'cause of orders of that asshole Philip. Shit-he couldn't change what had happened even if he'd _wanted_ too.

Merle stood stock still as he saw that Daryl had walked a few paces ahead of him, and he couldn't help but feel desperation settle uneasily in himself. He watched his brother as he paused, glancing over his shoulder back at him. Merle felt something twist in his gut at the pained look on his brothers face."Daryl," he rasped quietly.

Daryl turned to face him and warily edged a few paces nearer, watching him with all seeing eyes that didn't seem to so much as blink. "What?" he said tersely.

Merle looked at him for a while, then hung his head, "I'm trying brother, I'm tryin'," he answered softly.

Daryl nodded, glancing quickly at him and then back at the ground. He gave a soft little grunt of understanding. "I know, man." Then he turned away from Merle, and walked steadily back to the prison, back to C-block and to the others.

...


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: This is (was) the original chapter 12 that I'd intended, but removed as I felt I was rushing way ahead of myself with the storyline. So this piece has been majorly re-edited and rewritten. I did keep one or two scenes as they are relevant to the storyline now._

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><p><em>...<em>

Carol sat at the table, her hands flattened and resting loosely across each other. Quiet times at the prison were always a rarity, and she savored this small moment for what it truly was. Quiet, almost peaceful... but she knew that was a lie, there could never be any peace while the Governor threatened their lives and way of life. She hated the fact that people could be an even worse threat than what they had to face every single day. But again she reminded herself, human nature was an even bigger monster simply because there was always a conscious decision behind every action, unlike the mindlessness of walkers whose one single driven aim was purely to consume. She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if Andrea had done as she had suggested, but as time dragged on, she felt ever more doubtful.

The sound of boots shuffling on the dusty floor caught her attention, and raising her head she stared across at Michonne, who just sat there watching her quietly. Carol smiled at her, but the woman didn't return the gesture, only continued staring at her with those dark guarded eyes that seemed to observe everything with a quiet defiance.

The day before, Rick had gone on a run, and Carol had been curious at the fact that he had taken Michonne and Carl with him, although she supposed, it had more to do with Merle than anything. She shook her head, it seemed no matter what that man did, it always ended badly, always seemed to end in a fight.

Rick had come back with a substantial amount of fire power, and even more surprisingly, a new cot for the baby, as well as a good amount of loot. Carl had come back with an old photo in a dusty frame, and she had been teary-eyed when she had seen the youthful Lori in the picture, and at the thoughtfulness the young boy had for his baby sister. Michonne had come back with a gaudy brightly colored paper mache cat, which seemed incongruously at odds with the dark brooding woman.

Carol glanced up and felt her heart lurch suddenly in her chest as she watched as Merle stepped out of his cell, his eyes catching hers as he walked towards her. Mentally she rolled her eyes at herself, she was starting to feel ridiculous. But she couldn't help but feel the small heady thrill run through her as he stood near, his hand catching out and dragging a chair loudly, before falling heavily into the seat.

His shoulder brushed roughly against hers and she peeked up at him, catching him staring back at her, and she couldn't help the small smile form on her mouth. He didn't smile back, just stared right at her, then he dismissed her with a small curt nod.

Michonne was behind them, sitting on one of the tables, one foot now resting on a chair. Carol noticed Merle was deliberately ignoring the dark skinned woman, and she caught the slight narrowing of Michonne's eyes as she continued her silent vigil, her dark eyes flickering over the both of them.

"Michonne," Merle rasped suddenly, turning in his seat to face her. "You ain't never said how you an' blondie kept oh so warm on those long, long cold lonely nights in them woods. Did she snuggle up all tight an' close to yer soft warm ebony skin?" He tutted loudly,"Your holding out on me, Michonne. I bet she was a damn fine screw. Mhm. Or your heart too cold for some good ole fashion lovin'?"

Michonne pushed herself off the table and strode purposefully across the floor, her boots thudding dully. She paused, looking at Merle, her gloved hand resting on her katana, her fingers stroking and tapping the shiny blade. "You're a pig," she spat at him, before slowly pulling her eyes from his and walking out of the room.

Merle glanced at Carol and raised an eyebrow, "Got a way with words, ain't I?" he scowled.

"That wasn't necessary Merle," she admonished him, and she was surprised to see the sudden hot glare he shot back at her.

"Tell it to someone who gives a shit, sister. Yer preachin' to the unconverted," he retorted.

She looked at him in concern, seeing that he had turned from her, the sullen look harsh on his face, and she couldn't help but feel sad for him. He had been through so much that he would resort to crudeness and anger as a defense. She reached her hand out and placed it gently on his arm, feeling him flinch at the contact, and she was surprised that as annoyed as he seemed, he didn't pull away from her.

"Carol?" She glanced up as Beth stood before them, her wide blue eyes darting from her to Merle. "I've come to help with the laundry."

"Thank you Beth," she said, pushing herself from her seat, and stepping towards the young girl. She looked back at Merle, and was startled when he raised his eyes to hers and held her gaze firmly. His eyes flickered across her, then narrowed, and he hesitated before shoving himself out of his seat muttering 'got shit to do' before exiting hurriedly out of the room.

...

It wasn't for the first time that she thought with some irony, that they were sat here scrubbing dirty clothes in large buckets surrounded by the large industrial washing machines, that now in this new modern sense of the word, were totally obsolete. She wistfully thought back to all the things that they had taken for granted back before the turn. Simple things that didn't really merit much thought-it was there, you used it, you took it for granted, until you didn't have it anymore.

She was scrubbing hard at a particular stubborn stain in the knee of Daryl's pants, and she thought if she scrubbed it anymore, the material would practically dissolve in her hands. All their clothing was worn and getting badly threadbare, and the rough nature of having to wash everything by hand was taking its toll on all their clothing. She sighed, letting the pants slide out of her hands back into the bucket, and she brushed her hand over hear forehead, leaving a soapy smear.

Beth was sat next to her, one of Hershel's shirts soaking in the bucket at her feet, and as Carol looked at her, Beth gave her a small wistful smile. "Daddy always said idle hands are the devil's tools, but I don't think he reckoned on this."

Carol laughed and gazed across at the obsolete washers, "What I would give for one of those washers to actually work."

"Oh me too," Beth glanced across the dirty pile of laundry, "Maggie should be here, I mean, Glenn's stuff is worse that daddy's." She pushed her hand into the soapy water and pulled the shirt out, it was once recognizably white, but now had a more gray like hue. "If that's possible," she said raising an eyebrow at the shirt.

Carol snorted softly and shook her head, before thrusting her hands back into the bucket and scrubbing at the pants. She wondered just how Daryl's clothing always seemed to be that little bit more grubbier than everyone else, but she knew. He always put himself first, put himself to the front of any danger that faced the group as a whole, and not for the first time, she wondered if he knew just how invaluable he was too the group, how much he was cared for.

"I don't think he's as bad as they make out ya know. I mean he is Daryl's brother, and Daryl's always done well by us all," Beth said suddenly, breaking the reverie Carol had slipped into.

She glanced quickly at her, frowning, "Merle?"

Beth nodded, "Yeah. He's just rougher than Daryl is. I know what happened to Maggie and Glenn, and I can't accept what he did, but he had to have had a good reason to do it."

"I don't think the others see it that way." Carol sighed sadly, "All they remember is what he used to be. They can't see what he is trying to do now." She stood up stiffly, pacing over to where a pile of fresh folded clothing lay, wiping her wet hands on the legs of her pants. "I'm going to take these...god knows Daryl could do with a change of clothing, Merle too." She remembered just how filthy and blood grimed he had been at the shower room, and her heart pounded a little at the memory.

"Carol?" Beth called, getting to her feet and stepping hesitantly over to her. "I'm sure everythin' will be alright, I know you worry about us."

"I hope you're right Beth," Carol rested her hand on the girls shoulder and gave her a small squeeze of gratitude.

…

Carol lay on her bunk flicking through the paperback that Maggie had given what seemed so long ago. She couldn't concentrate on the words, her mind wouldn't switch off and it was frustrating her. She supposed the long wait for the others to come back from the arranged meeting with the Governor was taking its toll, the anxiousness that threatened to squeeze the very breath from her giving way to a numbing sense of hopelessness. She just wished that they were back, and then they'd know what they were dealing with. Bitterly she knew if Andrea hadn't been able to...to take care of _business_, then she didn't have much hope that Rick would be able to achieve anything either. Lately he seemed erratic-she had seen him a few times muttering to himself while staring blankly at empty space. Mentally she berated herself, feeling a little ashamed that she was _even _thinking it-but she couldn't help but wonder if Rick was even capable of dealing with things. But it seemed both Hershel and Daryl were firmly supporting him, and she guessed that was the very reason he had taken them both with him.

Loud voices reached up all the way across the hall and to her cell and she sat up quickly, the book sliding out of her hand and falling to the floor. Quickly she pushed herself off her bunk and raced out of the small room, her body prickling with alarm as she heard the high antagonized yelp of Glenn's voice and Maggie's shrill cry, and she could only guess at the cause of it all, Merle. She was absolutely damned if there was going to be another repeat of what had happened before.

Tables were strewn with all manner of weaponry-knives, bayonets, high powered rifles, shotguns, boxes and boxes of ammo, but that wasn't what caught her eye. Glenn was laying on the ground, his fists flying with Merle sitting astride him, while Maggie was draped awkwardly across Merle's back with her arm against his throat, his head yanked up high, holding him tight in a strangle hold.

Carol looked helplessly at Michonne, who just stood there watching, and she felt startled to see the start of a small smile grace the other woman's full lips.

Angrily she raced across, her hand grabbing at Maggie's arm, trying to pull her away, "Maggie, just you let him go," she cried.

"He started this," Maggie spat, "It's always _him_." She tightened her grip on Merle and glared at Carol over her shoulder angrily.

"Let me fuckin' go," Merle hissed, his breath whistling in his throat.

"This doesn't achieve anything," Carol said, anger starting to rise in herself. She reached down and grabbed firmly at the younger woman's clothing, pulling and eventually managing to tug her away with a strength and determination she was dimly aware that she had. She watched as Merle shoved at Glenn, before rising slowly to his feet. His hand rubbed at his neck, and he shot Maggie an intense little look of pure fury.

"Y'all missing this goddamned chance," he rasped, "Fuckin' fools."

Glenn pushed himself up, half sitting, half kneeling on the dirty floor. "I told you Merle, this was _my _call to make, not yours."

Merle shouted angrily, "In case y'all forgotten, it's my brother out there. I ain't sitting on no goddamned sidelines, doing nothin' while he is out there! What's the matter with y'all?"

"I'm not going to let you go and jeopardize anything, Merle. Not taking the risk that they could get caught in the crossfire. So yes, my call," Glenn answered heatedly.

"He isn't one of us," Maggie said abruptly, her hand on Glenn's arm as she helped him to his feet. Her eyes flashed passionately, "He don't belong here anyways, not with us, not with _our _group."

Carol froze, her eyes fixed firmly on Merle. She watched as his shoulders stiffened and saw his hand clench into a fist. Anger and hurt for him flowed through her as she watched him walk stiffly across to his cell. She felt the breath grow tight in her chest, and she turned around slowly, walking steadily towards the younger woman. "In case you have forgotten Maggie, he is Daryl's brother, so yes, he does belong here in this group. And while you may not be happy with this arrangement, Daryl is." She eyed Maggie and Glenn almost distastefully. "All of you...you should be ashamed of yourselves. There wasn't one of us that gave him any damn thought or consideration after he was left to die on that rooftop. Not one of us gave a thought to what he had to do to survive. Nobody gave any consideration to Daryl...his brother. So yes, he does belong here, he has every right..."

"He _beat me _and threw a walker at me," Glenn seethed, "He let a man almost brutalize Maggie. I don't care what happens to me, but I do care what happens to her!"

"Merle lost his hand, so do you think you are remotely even, Glenn, Maggie?" Carol questioned, shaking her head. "If you can't get along or accept him...or hell, even try and forgive what he has done, then don't do it for him, do it for Daryl."

"I don't know why you're wasting so much of your time on him anyway, Carol," Maggie said petulantly.

"People need people to survive in this world. Isn't that what we say? He only has his brother so it's about time somebody else gave a damn about him." Carol saw that Glenn's gaze was downcast, his eyes blinking rapidly, and she felt a grim little satisfaction at that.

Tiredly, she turned on her heel, not bothering to give them a second glance, before she paced across to Merle's cell. She stood leaning in at the doorway, watching him quietly as he sat on his bunk with his head hanging down. She wanted to reach out to him, but she felt wary of the anger that still simmered in him. Taking a deep breath, she said, "You heard that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. I heard enough."

"They were wrong..."

"Look...I don't want yer fuckin' pity, and I don't need ya to fight my goddamned battles for me," he said angrily, raising his head abruptly to look at her.

Carol crossed her arms and pursed her lips tightly. She met his gaze unblinkingly, "Daryl needs you, Merle," she said softly.

"No." He laughed bitterly, "Don't know that no more. They're right ya know. I don't fit here. Daryl does, I've seen how he is with them, who he is now. He's changed. He takes his orders off Rick, I've seen where his loyalties are."

"He's your brother, and he cares for you. He cares what happens to you."

"Always has been my first concern, my little brother. That ain't gonna change anytime soon, darlin'." He looked away from her, letting the breath sigh out of his mouth quietly. "Wasn't always the case. I tried, I looked after him best damned way I could, but I always let him down. Shit," he spat tiredly.

He had that beat down haunted look again, and she found she couldn't bear to see those dark shadows sweep across his eyes. "You're here now, and that has to count," she said gently.

"Ain't got nowhere else to go," he replied bitterly."My past record with Daryl ain't never been a shining fuckin' example. Left him too many times than I can count. Could never stay, not even for him."

"Change then, do it for him," she insisted quietly.

Merle growled irritably, "Lady, I'm too old to change, what's the damn point?"

"There's every point Merle. You of all people should realize that."

"Ain't you got some place to go, woman? Others to annoy?" He sat back heavily, leaning into the wall. "Can't I get any fuckin' peace?" he spat.

The distant sound of people in the main room, of feet shuffling about and the low hum of activity from others as they bustled around reached her ears, and she swore she had just heard Rick's voice echo in the room beyond.

She turned tersely to Merle. "Fine," she hissed back at him, as she moved from his cell and stepped into the main room. Daryl looked across to her as he heard the sound of her boots, and she offered him a small tired smile as she went and stood next to him, leaning against the wall.

"Are you okay?" She whispered close to him. "How did it go?"

" 'M fine, but this ain't gonna go down well," he said, inclining his head at the others.

She glanced around the room, seeing that Merle had followed her, and was now stood some distance away, standing just behind Carl. His eyes caught hers and she glanced quickly away, turning her head and letting her gaze settle on the former sheriff.

Rick's glare was demanding and earnest as his eyes swept across the room. "So, I met with this Governor." His voice broke heavily through the silence, and everyone's gaze turned and met his. "I sat with him for quite a while."

"Jus' the two of you?" Merle's voice was low and insistent, and Carol couldn't help but look across at him.

"Yeah." Rick glanced at the floor, his eyes almost pained before glancing across at them again. "He wants the prison. He wants us gone. He wants us dead for what we did to Woodbury." He shuffled briefly on his feet. "We're going to war."

Silence fell over the group again, and she watched as Rick turned on his heel and stomped away from them, his booted tread heavy and echoing. Carl followed after him, and Carol sighed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"Told ya, didn't I?" Daryl murmured.

She looked at him and he stared back, his eyes peeking brightly beneath his fringe. "What does this man want, the Governor?"

Daryl shook his head, glancing away from her and biting at his lip. He paused before answering tersely, "He wants Michonne."

"What?" Carol almost laughed, but she saw the seriousness in the way that Daryl stood stiffly next to her. "Give him Michonne, and he will leave the rest of us alone?"

"Mhm," he grunted.

"That's not going to happen, right? We can't do that. The man's a sadist, he will kill her, Daryl."

Daryl shrugged, "I ain't exactly happy 'bout it either, but is all we can do. Rick's got a plan-he'll know what has to be done."

Carol slumped wearily against the wall, disbelief flowing through her, and as she glanced away from Daryl she saw Michonne turn her back and leave the room. It didn't matter who she was, they couldn't do this.

It wasn't right.

...


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I'd just like to thank everyone for the reviews/follows and favorites, as always they mean a great deal. We are now tentatively venturing into Marol territory again, as brief as it is right now. Next few chapters will be back to Merle. _

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Early morning brought thin rays of pale sunlight and a discernible chill, and as Carol stepped out into the courtyard, she cradled the cup of steaming coffee tightly to herself. Daryl was taking his shift in the tower, and she knew that he would welcome the hot drink. Coffee was a scarce commodity, and she silently thanked Rick and Michonne for finding the precious little amount that they'd found on their run.

She hadn't slept well, the thought of Michonne playing largely in her mind after what Daryl had said the night before. And even though the dark skinned woman hadn't spoken much to anyone-she knew what Rick had proposed was just so very _wrong_.

Pursing her lips tightly at the thought, she climbed the steps to the watch tower, a little smile playing about her lips as she saw Daryl stood leaning against the railings. He turned to her, giving her a small smile.

"What ya got there?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at her.

Carol smiled at him, "Coffee. I thought you could do with it after your long shift."

Daryl stepped over to her, and she passed the cup over to him, watching as he gripped it with both hands, lifting it to his nose and inhaling the bitter aroma through a small puff of steam. "Sorry," she apologized, "It's black, no sugar."

"Is fine," he took a tentative sip from the cup.

"Thought you'd like it black and strong," she said, leaning against the railing next to him.

Daryl coughed suddenly, pulling the cup from his mouth. He turned his head slightly to face her, "Stop."

Carol smirked back at him, then glanced across the courtyard, her eyebrows raising as she saw Rick walking along the fence line. "How long has he been out here?"

"Dunno," Daryl said softly, "A while, I guess." He shook his head, then spoke so quietly that Carol had to prick her ears to catch his words. "That Governor's got him rattled, but he wont admit it. He keeps checkin' them damn fences. I doubt anything gonna get past, but he keeps on checkin'."

"Is he still...going to hand Michonne over?"

She saw the dark look chase across his eyes, saw the reluctance hidden there. "I guess," he said tightly. "He's got a plan, but I dunno if he gonna go through with it. Can never tell with him."

Carol sighed, "Hmm."

"Deadlines noon tomorrow. Summat's gotta go down, but shit if I know," Daryl took a long swig of his drink, "Coffee's good, thanks."

She smiled back at him, "You're welcome."

"Ya know, Rick had that rationed," Daryl said before draining the drink, and placing the empty cup on the floor behind him, swatting one hand over his mouth. "I dunno how you smuggled that past him."

"Call it...feminine wiles," she grinned suddenly. "Besides, what Rick doesn't know, doesn't hurt him, and you are far more deserving of a cup-it's chilly out here."

Daryl snorted softly, "Feminine wiles. Didn't see ya go take him a hot cup of java."

She smiled at him brightly, "Maybe he isn't one of my favorites," she shrugged mildly, seeing the slight blush tint his cheeks, "Oh I know, _stop_," she chided.

"Quiet, woman," he smirked, standing close to her and nudging her arm with his elbow.

Carol leaned over the railing, watching Rick as he paced relentlessly. "It's wrong Daryl," she said sadly, "This...it's all wrong."

"I know," he murmured, "What else can we do?"

She thought about it reluctantly, "We could go, leave the prison. I don't think all of this is worth it." She turned to him unhappily, "It's not worth one more single life. We've lost so much getting here Daryl. I don't want anyone else to...die...for this," she gestured at the prison grounds with one hand, "It just isn't worth it."

"It's home," Daryl rasped.

She bit back a sad laugh, "It wasn't so long ago that you called this place our tombs."

"Things change," he said leaning at the railings next to her. He turned his head slowly towards her, his eyes fixing firmly on hers. He bit at his lip hesitantly, "We're about out of options, and the group...I know man," he sighed slowly, "The group needs a fixed place to call 'home'. Lil ass-kicker needs ta grow a lil...can't risk her, no way," he murmured, dragging his eyes from hers to stare fixedly at the fence line. "What chance she gonna have out there, right now? What chance Hershel got-with just one damned leg? Is too much to risk on the road, out there in the open."

Carol leaned on the railings, feeling the cool chill of the metal seep into her skin. She glanced down at the yard, her breath catching as she saw Merle push the outer door open and step out into the courtyard. He headed straight for the gate, and she watched as he paused there, saw him glancing at the walkers straggling at the fences.

"Merle," Daryl grunted next to her.

She watched as Rick completed his lap of the fence line, saw him stop and stare rigidly at Merle, before moving hurriedly closer, his one hand hovering above the holster at his waist. She shook her head, unaware that Daryl was watching her. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Rick step closer to Merle, and she struggled to hear what he said, only catching the words, '_need to talk to you__'_...and _'we need your help'__. _To her alarm, she watched as Merle followed Rick back into the prison.

She turned to Daryl in confusion, "What does Rick want?" He was watching them below intently, and she felt a sudden despair seep chillingly through her. "Daryl?"

He turned his head towards hers, his eyes hooded, not meeting the intense gaze she shot at him, "Is nothin'. I'm tellin' ya, it's nothin'. Shit Carol, Rick's got this sorted, he knows what he's doing-he always does."

"What about Merle, what's he got to do with anything?"

Daryl shrugged, "He was the inside man, Rick just wants his advice is all, I reckon." He turned away from her quickly, but not before she glimpsed the unhappiness etched hard on his face.

"Maybe," she agreed reluctantly.

Daryl leaned further on the railings, his hands fidgeting across the metal, his grip suddenly firm. He paused a while, before staring at her crookedly, his eyes peeking at her from beneath his fringe. "Is... there somethin' going on with ya? I mean, you and my brother?"

She felt the breath choke up inside herself, and for a while she couldn't answer him. The thought terrified her. As she glanced at him, she read the earnest question in his eyes, and she knew that he deserved an honest answer, but the best that she could give him was, "I don't know. Honestly Daryl, I don't know."

He huffed a little, then let a long sigh escape him. "I know. I think I've known for a while, I've seen ya lookin' at him. I've seen him lookin' at ya too. The fuckin' charismatic asshole." Daryl turned abruptly, his hand sneaking out suddenly and grasping her about the wrist, gently pulling her so that she faced him."Told ya before...he ain't never got no respect for any woman, never wanted anythin' more from 'em than just ta fuck 'em." His eyes met hers, and he relented a little, begrudgingly. "But I seen the way he is with ya, and I ain't never seen that before, not with him, not with no woman."

"There's nothing going on Daryl," she replied firmly. "Nothing's happened."

He shifted restlessly on his feet, glancing at her, then looking away. "Do ya care for him?" he asked suddenly.

"I care for all of you," she said unhappily. "I always have done."

"That ain't what I was asking."

"He's your brother, he's part of this group now too." She raised her hand and smoothed at her hair, feeling an awkwardness that she had never really felt before with him.

Daryl stood back from her, but his hand still held her wrist firmly. His gaze was fixed on the ground between them. "I trust ya more than I ever trusted anyone before Carol. And I'm asking if ya care, 'cause I reckon Merle is 'bout gonna go do summat fuckin' stupid, and-" his voice broke a little and was suddenly harsh, and she swore she felt her heart break at the sound. "I know I ain't never asked for help with him before, and I know I ain't never gonna ask again. But, if ya think anythin' 'bout him, stop him."

"I don't know what is going on Daryl. I don't know what is happening with Rick and Merle, and even if I did, I'm not so sure I could help you." She knew that helping Daryl would just be admitting to something that she wasn't sure she could admit to herself. "Why do you even think he would listen to me?" she grimaced at the pleading she thought she could hear in her voice.

Daryl looked at her, his eyes boring into hers heatedly. "I can't lose him Carol, ya have ta understand. I can't. I ain't gonna lose my brother all over again."

"Is there something I don't know about?" she asked fearfully, her breath catching and twisting in her throat.

Daryl shook his head, almost regretfully, and he edged carefully away from her, stooping down to pick the cup of the floor. He shoved it at her, blinking rapidly through his heavy fringe of hair, "Thanks for the coffee."

Carol pursed her lips and stared back at him, but as she looked into his eyes, she could see the guarded edge there, and she knew that he had effectively shut himself off from her, and no amount of prying would push him to tell her anything, in fact the opposite. He would just retreat back into himself. She sighed and took the cup from him, reaching out and catching his arm in her hand. She gave him a little squeeze, and was rewarded with a minute upturn of his lips.

She let his arm go, and reluctantly moved away from him, one hand gripping the railings that lined the stairs. She stopped momentarily, glancing over her shoulder to look at him again, seeing that he had turned his back to her, then she paced restlessly back across the courtyard and back into the prison.

She was thankful for the coolness of the interior and more than thankful that nobody was there as she sat wearily at one of the tables, leaning her elbows on the hard table top. Stifling back hot tears, she bowed her head into her hands and closed her eyes to the heaviness in her heart.

...

The sun was higher in the sky, and the chill of the morning was nothing more than a distant faded memory. The prison had woken up a few hours previously, and was now an industrious hive of activity.

Daryl and Glenn, with Michonne's help had added a few extra defensive barriers to the fences, and had constructed planks of wood with barbed wire coiled thickly around, sharp and lethal enough to puncture any tires should the Governor again try that tactic of driving another vehicle at them through the gates, another van full of walkers. Carol mused that from what she had heard of him, he would be fairly stupid to attempt that again-as Merle had said before, that trick had just been the Governor ringing the damned doorbell. He would attempt something different, but Carol thought that it didn't pay to be unprepared. If anything, it could be enough to buy them a little time, even though she wondered fearfully, time for _what_ exactly? They were outnumbered and outgunned, Woodbury was well equipped with a lot more able bodies and firepower than what they had.

The baby grumbled in her arms, and she looked down at her, smiling softly. She couldn't help but smile at the baby, Judith was a constant little miracle, and she knew that they were all thankful for her and for what she represented to the group as a whole.

She shifted the baby on to her hip, and raised her hand momentarily to shield her eyes from the sun, squinting across to the outer field-the field that had once been theirs, but was now a no man's land of torn fences and walkers. The truck was out there; she could see Beth sat at the wheel waiting, Michonne striding determinedly, her katana arcing now and again, felling walkers with one bloodied sweep, little glints of light flashing off her bright blade, Daryl and Glenn dragging the defenses and laying them on the ground. She dragged her gaze from the field to the fences; Maggie and Carl were bashing pots and pans from the kitchen, the sound attracting and luring the walkers from the others in the field.

The baby wriggled against her, and she cooed quietly to the baby, shifting her more firmly to herself, cradling her against her chest. She lowered her head and softly kissed her head, the baby's fine hair tickling at her nose with its own exquisite unique scent.

"I swear she is growing every single day."

Carol glanced to her side and smiled as Hershel hobbled near to her. He adjusted his crutches, taking the weight on one, and he reached his hand across and smoothed at Judith's soft hair with his fingertips.

"She's been a blessing to us all," he said smiling.

"She is," she agreed. "How are Maggie and Glenn?" She felt a reluctance in asking, but she wanted to know, she hated seeing the distance they had put between themselves since Woodbury.

He pursed his lips tightly, glancing across at his oldest daughter as she called out loudly to the walkers at the fence line. "They are getting there," he sighed quietly. "They've been through a lot, they need time to adjust, to consider. Glenn can be a little impulsive where Maggie is concerned, but I am under no illusion that he has her best interests at heart, and I can't ask for more than that. He cares for her, he wants to protect her, but he can be hot-headed. Just like Merle," Hershel turned his head, his eyes holding hers.

Carol met his gaze and nodded, resting her chin lightly on the top of the baby's head.

"I've seen what you are doing with him. The others are not so generous in their thinking, and I have to be honest, for a while I wasn't either. But he seems to be making an effort with us, with the group as a whole."

"It hasn't been easy for him," she sighed. "I won't excuse what he has done. I know all to well."

Hershel shook his head mildly, "No. I don't doubt that it hasn't been easy for him. His actions have caused a lot of hostility. He has to earn his place here, and I fear the others will withhold their judgment on him until he does. He is Daryl's blood, and his loyalty to his brother is without question, but it has to be more than that, and I know you see this."

Carol clutched the baby tighter to her. Hershel was right of course, she knew, she could see what he was saying. Her heart twisted a little. She wanted him _so badly_ to make things work, as much for Daryl as for herself. She felt her cheeks flame a little at the thought, and wondered if she seemed foolhardy and presumptuous. But as much as she tried to stave of the feeling-it was there, and she couldn't hide from it.

"Merle could be an asset to the group. He has military expertise, he is strong, wilful, formidable, and I have no doubt that given the right nurturing, he could grow to be invaluable member of the group, just like his brother. Don't give up on him Carol." Hershel held her gaze for a moment, then he looked away as Maggie caught his eye. She lifted one hand and waved at him. He shifted his crutches more firmly under his arms. "Daughters. No matter how old they are, it is always good to know that they still need their father," He smiled distantly at her, then hobbled his way slowly over to where Maggie was stood waiting for him.

...

_The large barn door gaped open like a hungry blackened mouth, and she watched in rapt fear as a small grubby figure shuffled slowly into the light on stumbling twisting feet. Filthy hair whipped about as the head twisted towards her, yellowed unblinking unseeing eyes settling on her, marking her as the small girl shambled nearer. The scent was caught, nostrils flaring with hunger, and the loose- limbed gait shuffled ever quicker, the soft thump of sneakered feet whispering eagerly in the gritty earth. Arms raised as if wanting to embrace her, to hug and comfort her, and this time she welcomed them, welcomed those arms as they gripped hers, welcomed the ragged nails as they tore at the soft flesh of her arms. Sophia raised her head, flashing mud grimed broken teeth, and she pulled her little girl tightly into her embrace, she felt the dank fetid cold breath on her neck, heard those terrible teeth snapping closer and closer..._

Carol sat up suddenly, unaware of her surroundings as the remnants of her dream slipped away. Tears formed thickly in her eyes, and she tried to choke back the racking sobs that threatened to escape her. Her eyes darted unseeingly around the small room, her one hand grasping tightly at the edge of the metal that was her cot. Everything else paled away, and she could only focus on her daughter's words, words that she dreamed almost every single time she closed her eyes. '_Why did you leave me __to die __Mommy?__'_ It was all too unreal, and she closed her eyes to the sound of her own harsh ragged breathing, wishing for eternity that things could have been so very different.

Slowly she willed her eyes to open, letting her gaze steady and focus on the dull gray concrete that was her room. The small light from the moon partially lit her cell, although it could do nothing to penetrate the darkness in her heart. She sat up, one hand wiping at her eyes, collecting the tears and smothering them to her chest, an act of penance she did almost every time on awakening. Her heart ached bitterly for her loss, and as she always did, she allowed herself this small time to grieve, thankful for the solitude. She wouldn't show her tears any more to the others, she couldn't allow that hurt and loss to fill Daryl's eyes. He had done everything and beyond that he could have at the time-she couldn't have asked more of him, but the loss every time was as acute now as it had been at the Greene farmstead.

Dimly, she become aware that there was a presence at the foot of her cell, a dark shadow looming in the doorway, and she clutched her arms about herself, reigning back the shudder and yelp of surprise that she wasn't alone, that she hadn't even heard anyone approach her cell.

"You okay?" Merle rasped.

"Merle, you startled me, I didn't hear anyone coming. I thought everyone was asleep."

"Huh. Was goin' on watch," his boots scuffed softly against the floor. "Heard ya cryin'."

"It's nothing, I'm fine," she said shaking her head. She fervently hoped that nobody else was awake and had heard her crying, it was bad enough that he had.

"Ain't lookin' that way to me."

She raised her eyes and looked across at him. He was poised hesitantly in the doorway, his hand curled around the bars of her cell. He was cast thickly in shadows, but she could see the burning hue of his eyes glinting back at her in the moonlight. He had never visited her at her cell before, nobody ever did really since Lori. "Why are you here, Merle?" she asked, slipping her legs over the side of her bed.

He looked at her and huffed, "Can't I show any fuckin' concern?"

Her feet were cold on the floor, so she reached over and tugged her boots on. "I don't ask you to-"

"No, you wouldn't, would ya," he snapped back.

She glanced up at him sharply, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It don't mean nothin'," he said, and Carol narrowed her eyes at him. "Merle? What's happened?"

"Ain't nothin' happened," he sighed irritably. "Jus' heard ya cryin', wondered what the fuck was wrong. Figured it was was nothin' more than hormones. You bitches are always complain' 'bout that." He shrugged, loosening his hand from the cell bars and stepping away.

Carol frowned at him. His tone and words smarted at her, but she wasn't going to let him know that. The ache for her daughter still hurt, and she grimaced- she was in no mood for this. She pushed herself off the bed and stepped across the cell towards the door. She stood a hands breath away from him, and she wondered why he stood so stiffly, like he was poised to bolt from her. "Merle?" she questioned, watching as his eyes dragged across hers before falling to the space between them.

He backed away from her another step, and she thought she glimpsed turmoil looming in his eyes. "Forget it," he said quickly, turning from her. She watched as he angrily moved away from her, the way he seemed to want to put distance rapidly between them, and for some reason, it smarted at her. His boots thumped softly down the metal gangplank, and she felt a sudden rising annoyance that he would just walk away like that. _Why had he even come to her?_ She bit down the thought, and stood there watching him, feeling the tug of emotions piquing at her. After a moment's hesitancy, she chased after him, watching as he pulled the outer door open with his hand. He still refused to look at her, and she followed after him as he stepped outside into the darkness.

The chill of the night hit her, and she shivered in her thin shirt, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. "It was just a dream. A bad dream. I dreamt about Sophia," she said quickly. "It's _always_ Sophia." She was aware of the pain coloring her voice, and she couldn't hide it from him.

He stood stock still and as he peered intently at her, she saw a raw look flash across his face, and she almost regretted her words. His eyes raked across hers, and she felt her heart ache at the sudden softness that sprang to his eyes. "I know I ain't never said a damn thing to ya before," he murmured stepping close, his hand reaching out and catching at her arm, pulling her to him. "An' yeah I know, I'm a heartless bastard, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what ya went through."

She felt the tears misting heavily in her eyes again, and she bitterly thought that she didn't want him to see her like this-weak. "It wasn't your fault," she choked back another sob, and felt his arm tighten awkwardly around her, his prosthesis pressing rigidly across her back. Warily, she pressed her forehead to his chest.

"Wouldn't have happened if I'd been there," he rasped softly.

"You can't know that. You wasn't there," she said quickly, and then she was all to aware of why exactly he hadn't been there. She looked up at him, "I...I didn't mean to be so insensitive. I'm sorry Merle."

"Yer tellin' me _your_ sorry? What the fuck you apologizin' for?" Indignation flooded his voice. "Ain't none of this been yer damned fault." Merle shook his head angrily, "How the fuck can ya even compare what happened? I lost my hand, you lost your-"

"I know what I lost, and I have to live with that every single day." She felt his chin rest on the top of her head and she closed her eyes to the inner turmoil running through her.

They stood a while in silence and she stiffened slightly against him when she felt his fingers touch at her hair. Her voice sounded small as she said, "I spoke to Daryl this morning."

The breath hissed in his chest, and as his hand fell away from her hair, he let go of her roughly and stepped back a pace. He looked undecided, his feet scuffing on the hard ground, and she mentally berated herself as she felt an ache at the sudden loss of his touch. "Whatever this about, don't do it," she urged softly.

"Don't matter none," Merle growled. "It's been decided. Ain't nothin' you gonna say that could change shit." He shrugged at her and moved away, his boots thumping dully on the concrete as he headed to the watch tower.

"I'm not done talking," she hissed weakly after him.

She watched as he stopped, before turning to her, "Ain't nothing to talk 'bout no more, darlin'," he spat. He turned away from her, and she couldn't help the flailing panic grip her. Her heart lurched in her chest as she stepped out after him, her boots thumping the same path he did.

"Merle," she called out after him, and she wondered at the fact that he stopped, not looking at her. She hurried up to him. "You're better than this." she said quietly.

He shook his head at her, "I ain't," he grunted. His eyes locked tightly on hers, and she could see the warning glowing brightly in his smoky eyes. "Ya don't know what ya doin', mouse," he sighed. "Save all this shit for my brother. I ain't got no time to be dealin' with this crap."

"If you told me, I would know. What the hell are you _doing_?" She questioned heatedly, holding his gaze with hers.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Doin' what Rick's asked me to do," he answered simply.

"What if I asked you not to?" Her heart hammered in her chest, she knew she was pushing him, but she was suddenly afraid of what was going on, afraid for _him_, and it didn't help that Daryl's warning was crowding in her mind, demanding answers. "We're both worried about you-"

He strode back over to her, and angrily rammed his hand at her shoulder, "Don't ya dare," he breathed, "Don't you fuckin' dare. You ain't puttin' that on me." He rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand, before settling it back on her shoulder, his grip tight and pinching at her. "You should go. I can't damn well fuckin' think with ya hangin' around my ass."

Carol sighed, feeling suddenly weary and defeated. She felt the tears prickling hotly behind her eyes and she irritably swatted at them. Merle was still stood so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body in the chill air. His hand loosened its tight grip on her shoulder, but he didn't pull it back.

"I ain't never been the right brother for ya, Carol." Merle said suddenly. His voice was low and gravelly, "Don't think I ever could be. Daryl is. Ya been good for him. I've seen, an' I ain't stupid." He moved closer to her and as she looked up at him frowning, his hand dropped from her shoulder, brushing softly against her cheek, before his fingers tilted her chin up. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. His eyes were haunted as he paused before sighing bitterly-and then he was lowering his head to hers, and she closed her eyes as she felt his lips brush against hers, his stubble prickling against her skin. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she swore he could hear it, and before she could respond to his brief kiss, he was gone, and she heard the steady thump of his boots echo on the concrete as he strode quickly away from her.

Tears stung brightly at her eyes again, and she wondered at the fact that it felt like he had just said goodbye.

...


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: As always, I do not own The Walking Dead, nor do I own Merle, sadly.**

_a/n: Again, many many thanks to everyone who is still following this story, I hope it doesn't disappoint. I have included a few lines of dialogue from the series, (as much as I hate doing that) but I really felt no option but to include as they are quite relevant to this part in the fic. After this chapter everything will start to be going AU, although the main plot of the story will remain canon to the actual storyline. With one or two exceptions, of course._

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><p><em>...<em>

He sat with his back to the wall, rifle propped next to him as he counted the moments that brought the light back from the dark. He was cold but unmindful, the early morning chill seeping through his bones, the light morning dew settling damply on his shoulders.

Shifting restlessly, he got to his feet and tugged the rifle across his back as the first tentative rays of sunlight broke out over the prison. He knew what he had to do-and as much as the thought appalled him, he would go through with it. No way was he going to let his consciousness prick at him now, that was crap for dealing with later. All that mattered right now was saving these shitty people, giving _them_ a chance, because giving them a chance meant giving his _brother_ a chance. And when it came down to it, to the bare bones of it-he would do whatever the hell he had to do to ensure his brothers safety. He smirked to himself, giving a soundless little laugh. Karma was a bitch, and this was his karma for being such a dick to Daryl over the years. All those times he hadn't been there, hadn't had the guts to stick around because of what his drug addled temper might have led to...and if he had known all this end of the world fucking crap would have happened, maybe he would have done shit differently. Taken Daryl from their fucked up home, killed that old bastard, given him the beating of a lifetime for all the damn hideous marks he'd put on the both of them, paid him back for all the abuse he'd given their dead momma over the years.

Merle pursed his lips into a tight grimace, running his hand over his forehead and over his hair, his palm fretting and clasping at the nape of his neck. None of it mattered no more. It was gone. Just sepia memories, but he now had the power to make things different. Maybe buy some time for him and his little brother both to make a few new memories.

He was stood at the metal door of the prison before he knew it, and he stepped out of his loosely knotted boots before opening the door cautiously, aware of the numerous squeaks of its un-oiled hinges. He knew at exactly what point that door would squeal, and he held his breath, little beads of perspiration forming at his temples. Holding the door firmly, he shifted his body sideways, taking care of his prosthesis, making sure that the metal of it wouldn't clang against the door. He stepped carefully through, his head poking around the corner, eyes wide and scanning for any occupancy in the room beyond him. Satisfied that he couldn't see or hear a single thing, he slid the rest of the way in, leaning back across to the outside and grabbing at his boots, placing them carefully the other side of the doorway. Standing still, he cast his eyes about the interior again, before gripping the edge of the door and for several long drawn out seconds, quietly pushing it closed behind him.

Michonne had chosen a cell as her abode right towards the back of the prison block, as far out of reach as she could have gotten despite the close proximity of the others. Merle knew she had done that to keep out of reach, unlike him who'd kept his original cell, even though it meant every single damned day he was on view. What the jackasses hadn't realized was-as much as he was on constant view to them, they were on constant view to him. He'd learnt a few surprising things about them that he'd bet his lily white ass on that they had no clue about.

Bet they didn't know that ole man Hershel mostly farted in his sleep, that the wholesome fucking chink kid had been taking 'matters' into his own hand, in Maggie's absence from their shared cell. That Rick sang soft little lullabies to the baby when he thought the rest of the prison were asleep-murmured his dead wife's name on occasions-Merle had always had to bite back that little laugh, the sound of the sheriffs pitiful little dream fueled whimpers. Yep, karma was a right bitch. Merle chuckled to himself. The whole lot of them, they truly were a bunch of clueless bastards.

He scooted across the dusty floor, his bootless feet shifting little dust motes that spiralled thinly in the wan light. Glancing up, he saw the doorway to Carols cell, and he idly mused that _if_ he was of the romantic persuasion, he might have taken a few precious moments to leave some stupid shit like, a flower on her pillow, like the hopeless mindless pussies he'd read about in those crappy romantic novels he'd read back at the library in Woodbury. Bitches always liked flowers. It would have had to have been something small, delicate, a pretty shade of blue-it would have been a token to express all the things that he found beguiling about her, but wouldn't voice. But he wasn't none of that pussy assed shit, he was nothing more than a fucked up asshole who wouldn't know or want to feel emotions like that if it hit up him upside the head.

He smiled at himself, before a heavy frown drifted across his face. That annoying woman was distracting him, and he hadn't even so much as glimpsed her. Yet his feet stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes on the bars of her cell, and he allowed himself one more little moment, one more fleeting thought before he would banish all memory of her from his head. When he had kissed her, he had confirmed one thing to himself, and that was a question that had haunted his thoughts since their return from the woods. She had indeed tasted as sweet as she sounded. And if he was brutally honest, a few more snatched moments like that would make all this fucking shit all the more damned worthwhile.

His heart suddenly thudded a little too heavily in his chest, his lungs tightening a little too uncomfortably, and he dragged his eyes from her cell, willing his breathing to slow, his heart to stop its odd little pounding. He tightened his grip on the boots in his hand, biting at the inside of his cheek as he edged away silently.

A few paces later, and he was stood outside Michonne's cell, and he saw with no real surprise that she slept with her sword close to her. It was tucked just under her bunk, and her arm was draped loosely over the side, nothing more than a fingers breath away. Merle placed his boots on the ground and dug his feet into them, swiftly kneeling to wrangle the laces single- handedly into a reasonable knot.

Stepping into her cell, he leaned across and drummed his fingers on her forehead. Seeing that she only mumbled in her sleep and turned her head to the side, he gripped her shoulder and shook her mildly. Her eyes fluttered open into an instant frown of dark dislike, and he had to bite back the silly little smirk that threatened.

"C'mon Michonne. Day's a wasting and we got shit to do," he growled quietly.

She pushed herself up on her bunk with one hand, and he was amused to see that she slept with those dainty little gloves on. "What the hell, Merle?" she hissed unpleasantly.

He chuckled quietly and watched her nostrils flare at him angrily. _By fuck this one __got__ spirit_-he'd forgotten how much. "Thought ya knew. We gotta help Rick clear some of the tombs." He scratched at his head, stepping back as she shoved her legs off her bunk. "Shit girl, I'd thought he'd already been an' gone told ya. Told _me_ late last night, an' I figured that you and me, well hell...we're both the same. We gotta make our mark here, earn our keep, help the greater good an' all that shit."

"We are not the same," Michonne growled back huskily. Her hand reached under her bunk and he watched as her fingers slipped around the leather bound hilt of her sword.

Merle grunted, "Whatever." He stared at her and shrugged, "But you and I both know that we ain't gonna fit in here unless we both make an effort, and the one we gotta persuade is that asshole sheriff-I mean, Rick. We gotta do whatever it takes darlin'."

Michonne grunted as she got to her feet, pushing past him to step into her boots. She glanced over her shoulder as she tugged them on, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "You're not feeding me a line? You don't have an ulterior motive?"

He smirked at her, "Shit honey, if I was wantin' to fuck ya, I'd be thinkin' somewhere a lot more fuckin' romantic than a damned biter filled corridor. I ain't that much of an ass. Still, if that's what ya wanna do, guess I'm all up for it. I ain't never said no to a piece of action before."

She tugged the belt of the katana over her shoulder, a little look of distaste on her lips. She sighed at him, "Lead the way. And no. I'm not interested," she said as he gave her an almost hopeful little look.

He turned from her, stepping softly into the hallway, gesturing with his prosthesis. "You don't know what yer missing."

"Think I have a fair idea, Merle," she glowered, pushing past him.

…

He was glad that she wasn't the talkative type of bitch that he'd known from before, both at Woodbury _and_ before the turn, it made the task in hand-he grimaced at _that_ thought-a lot easier. The afternoon before, when they'd all been running around outside like headless chickens strengthening their pitiful fortifications outside by the gates, he'd at first, looked for a little something to help ease his mind into a more thoughtful frame, but had only made himself more angry by finding sweet fuck all. His thoughts of a dream little vacation in tatters, like the remains of a dozen or so grimy mattresses that had yielded nothing. Secondly, he had at least completed his stash hidden in the workshop near the edge of the prison block, everything he thought he would need to subdue and bind his little Nubian captive, carefully hidden away in a duffel bag. He had toyed with the thought that he might need a gag to smother her sweet little voice, but he had dismissed that the second he'd thought it. If anything, she was a woman of few words, and that suited him and his plan very well.

He'd nearly been caught by Daryl suddenly appearing there like a goddamned fucking ghost, and he'd had to suffer a little conversation that he didn't really expect or want to hear. He had refused at the time to acknowledge the tightness in his throat, the sudden tears that prickled at the backs of his eyes, when his baby brother had softly said the words, _'I just want my brother back'. _

Merle shook the thought away angrily-it hurt too much to think about him. Focusing instead on the matter in hand as they stepped their way into the tombs, he remained stoically two steps behind Michonne, his eyes sharply watching her every single move, quietly anticipating. The katana was in her gloved hand, the wicked sharp point lowered to the floor, the thin morning sunlight bouncing off the bright blade, through the small narrow windows.

She glanced over her shoulder at him quizzically, "So where is it?"

Merle pursed his mouth into a tight thin line, then he sneaked his tongue out to wet at his dry lips, "Around the corner. We gotta clear some biters, then get the others down here to barricade it. A breach like this could be an open invitation to the Governor."

He smothered a grin as she stepped back abruptly in alarm as a biter thrust its hands out from between the bars of a locked down cell. She looked back at him with wide brown eyes, "He's not much for subtlety."

Low guttural groans chased across to them, and he saw a few undead assholes stumble gracelessly around the next corner. "You wanna take your chances?" he questioned.

She ignored him, choosing to wield her sword, hacking at a walker that got a little too close. Merle stepped next to her, thrusting the blade of his prosthesis into a sickeningly soft carcass. He shoved his foot out and pushed the corpse away from his arm, leaning down to push the blade through its pulpy forehead. His eyes widened as he saw his chance, and he knew _that this was it, it was now or never_. Regarding her with chilly eyes, he raised his prosthetic arm, before bringing it down with all his might on the back of her head. She fell face forward, prone -her body thudding to the ground and making a sickening dull heavy thump. Merle glanced at her for a few long seconds, waiting to see if she would move, then he stepped quickly over her body, meeting head long four biters that surged at him hungrily. Several thick bloodied spatters later, the biters felled to the ground, and an exerted soft little grunt from him-he finally nodded to himself as he saw the coast was clear.

He shoved at her with his foot, waiting a few seconds then taking her sword from her and heaving it across his own shoulders, the katana feeling odd and unknown against his back along with the rifle. He rubbed at his forehead with his palm, wiping at the sweat, then he leaned down, gathering both of her feet in his large hand, before dragging her the rest of the way in a grunt filled silence to the workshop.

He didn't allow himself time to pause or think, before smothering her face with a filthy pillowcase. Once her face was hidden, he worked on tying the strong wire about her wrists, carefully resting his prosthesis on her as he fumbled with the knots. For extra measure-_it __always __pays to be safe, _he thought as he concentrated-he bound at her hands with more wire, tugging at the knots to make sure that they held firm and true.

He knelt next to her, leaning across to the duffel bag and tugging out a longer length of thin wire. He secured it to the binding around her wrists, never smiling as he again tugged at the line of wire that now lay looped loosely in his palm. Whatever, it was enough to see this task through to the end.

Merle sat back on his haunches, waiting and watching for her to awake. It wouldn't be long now.

…

The sun was a little higher and Merle cursed the lack of a watch to tell him the exact time, but he knew that they must have been making good progress. All being well, he would be there just in time to surprise that fucking devil Philip Blake. He wondered how it would go down, would he take the bait that was offered? But he knew deep down that it wouldn't be the end of it, and now? Now he was in too fucking deep.

As they walked through a desolate ruined little suburb-broken homes and dust grimed wrecks of vehicles, he suddenly started to question what he was doing. The thought piqued at him urgently, did he really think that he could walk away from all of this? That giving the Governor his little prize would keep the devil off the doorstep? He of all people should know exactly what Blake was capable off-shit, he'd even aided him before now in a few jobs that others had found...a little too distasteful. Even Martinez had gone a pasty shade of white when he'd heard of a few of them.

It wasn't helping none that Michonne had started to be a little too vocal than he had originally thought that she would, and he felt a bitter surge of irritation at the memory of the gag he'd felt that he wouldn't need.

He had reminded her that it had been Rick that had originally come up with this little plan, all arranged and dealt with the Governor. She'd tried to turn the tables back on him, and since then, he'd kept his distance behind her, choosing instead to watch as she walked ahead of him, weaponless and powerless, her hands bound and him holding the wire like he was taking a prized thoroughbred bitch along for a walk on a pretty little leash.

He saw a lone biter and he smiled suddenly, pushing the gun in his hand to the belt at his waist. He dropped his leash, and raised an eyebrow at Michonne. "May I?" he smirked again at the frown she gave him as she saw her katana suddenly in his hand. "I'll take that as a yes," he said as he hurried across the grass to the biter.

He glanced back at her before holding his arms outstretched, then he whipped the blade suddenly, taking the biters head clean off at the neck, laughing again as he watched the head roll across the ground. "Heh," he grinned, turning back to her, his eyes dropping from hers to the thin wicked blade. He sheathed it and strode back across to her, wondering that she was still stood there, bound hands held awkwardly before her.

"Ah!" he smirked, "You know what? I'd figured you'd have run."

Michonne paused before grinning back at him, and Merle saw that the smile didn't so much as light those dark eyes that bored their way through him. "I wanted my sword back before I got away."

…

Merle slammed his hand heavily on the roof of the car they had found at yet another desolate house that stood mired in a years or so accumulated neglect and disuse. The fucking car had no chance, even its fucking tires were flat. His resolve was crumbling, constantly being chipped at by the dark skinned woman. Irritably, he dragged his hand off the car and swatted harshly at his cheek, his fingers rasping at thick stubble. He was getting downright fucking annoyed, he'd already told her that he was doing all of this for his brother, for those ungrateful asses back at the prison. Her only answer had been a sardonic, _that's a whole lot of maybe's._

He glanced across and saw with ever increasing annoyance, that a few biters were straggling their way through the tree line. Sighing, he pulled at the leash, tugging Michonne along with him. She didn't say anything, just tripped over her own feet to keep up with his urgent pace.

"You know, I have watched you closely Merle," she said after a moment of silence, their booted feet the only other sound as they stepped out into the open road. "I've watched that woman too." He ignored her, watching as a slight breeze picked up, churning crisp dead leaves in its wake.

"I've seen how you look at her," she tried again. "And I have seen how she is with you. I get the feeling that she cares about you. God only knows why."

Merle felt his back stiffen, and he clenched his jaw tightly, refusing to take the bait. He didn't want to think about _her_-he wouldn't do that. She made him start to question all the goddamned things that he thought he'd ever known about himself.

"It's only my opinion," Michonne sighed then fell quiet.

"My only concern in all this, is my baby brother. Is Daryl," he hissed back, knowing that he was lying-it was _more_ than that, but suddenly his anger was piquing at him, "I do this, the prison gets saved, and I get a little forgiveness."

"It wont play out like that, and you know it."

Merle shrugged, yanking on the leash a little to hard, narrowing his eyes at her back. He just wanted her to shut the hell up.

"I could help you," she said softly, and Merle thought he heard a little tremor to her voice. Like hell he was gonna let that happen. Before he'd know it, she would be high tailing her sweet ebony ass back to the prison and his plan would be screwed. If that happened...he could never go back.

"Not gonna happen sweet-cheeks. You know it and I know it, so why don't y'all do us a favor and shut the fuck up."

He watched as she shrugged, never breaking one single step. There was another long silence before she spoke again. "So you're just the guy that empties the piss bucket and begs for more dirty chores?" Michonne laughed shallowly, "They all respect your brother, Daryl. They need him."

"They asked me 'cause I'm the guy that always gets shit done. I don't see them asking my little brother to do this," he replied tersely, "'Cause they know I'll get the job done."

"You know your brother's got a whole new family? Ain't nobody gonna mourn you Merle, not your own brother, not even _her_. You're missing the opportunity. This could be your shot. "

"You don't know shit," Merle spat angrily.

"You have skills Merle, yet you keep yourself on the outside," she frowned at him. "This could be _your_ chance."

He stood still, and she turned to face him. Her eyes shone darkly and Merle felt a weary reluctance seep through his bones. His eyes roamed across to where they now stood-he could see the battered single line of chalets, a motel. A few cars stood forlornly and his eyes settled on a Chevy Caprice black sedan, parked almost carelessly.

"Why the fuck do you wanna help me?" he asked suspiciously. "Helping _me_ ain't got shit to do with you. You're only the prize that Governor wants, a bargaining chip, nothin' more darlin'."

"I want _him_ _dead_," she breathed, and Merle felt his head snap back to her at the sudden vehemence in her tone. He watched as she stood there regarding him, her hand almost caressing the hilt of her sword. "So, you _will_ let me help you end this," Michonne quietly insisted.

"Ain't nothin' ya can do," Merle answered quickly, twisting his eyes from her. What if she could though? He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Maybe she could help him. It had never been in his plans, hell-it would be something that fucking Governor wouldn't expect.

He grunted softly to himself as he suddenly thought of his brother, and he longed for things to be different, for once in his shitty life he could have the chance to make things all right, make a little peace. Then he thought of _her_, the way her eyes had shone with bright tears...Merle sighed, maybe Michonne was right. And if she wasn't and shit went wrong, well hell, she'd just be yet another casualty.

Tugging the knife from his waist, he glared hotly at the dark skinned woman, before tugging the wire leash tightly in his hand. She stepped closer to him, uncertainty glowing in her eyes. "I ain't gonna bite," he rasped quietly as he took the blade to the bindings on her hands and wrists. She looked at him mildly in surprise, shrugging the wire away, letting it drop to the ground as she slowly flexed and coaxed the life back into her hands. He stepped back from her, tugging the katana off his back and holding it out to her, ignoring the soft little smile she gave as she took back her sword, hoisting the strap over her own shoulders.

Merle shook his head, not wanting to see the knowing look in her large brown eyes, the defiant smile pasted on her thick lips. "Alright," he replied huskily.

...


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: A shorter chapter, my apologies. Not overly happy with this one, but oh well, it is done. The next chapter is all written up, and only awaiting a few last edits before I will post it._

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><p>...<p>

Carol stepped out of her cell, the bundle of clothing clasped tightly to herself and she frowned suddenly, listening. It was all to quiet. Normally the prison would be alive with the sounds of the others bustling about. She held the laundry tighter to herself as she stepped down the gangplank, her eyes drifting across the row of narrow cell doorways. Nothing again. Biting at her lip, she hurried down to the small kitchen area, her eyes drifting across to where she could see Hershel sat with Maggie and Beth either side of him, his ever present Bible flattened and opened on the table before him. His voice was low and steady as he recited a verse, his daughters eyes rapt with attention and focus.

"Have you seen Daryl or Merle?" she asked, her voice breaking the older mans monotone.

Beth glanced across to her and smiled, "I haven't seen Merle, but I think Daryl-"

"Daryl's out back with Glenn," Maggie broke in, frowning at her younger sister.

Carol raised an eyebrow at them as she walked across to an empty table, dumping the clean pile of laundry to the top. She ran her hand lightly over the clothes, her eyes roaming the prison before finally settling on Merle's cell.

It was empty.

She felt a thrill of alarm spread through her as she remembered the night before, the way that he had left and suddenly she felt like she couldn't breath. As she stepped closer to his cell, she wondered what exactly had Rick asked him to do. She stood with her hands pressed to the cell bars, the alarm taking a greater urgency as she saw his neatly made bed, obviously not slept in. Maybe it was nothing, she told herself, maybe he was just outside with Daryl, and she was worrying over nothing. But still the restlessness wouldn't leave her, it lay coiled tightly in the pit of her stomach. She sighed, brushing her hand over her hair. Stepping back, she let her fingers slip from the cell bars and paced hurriedly across the room to the outer door.

Pausing, she heard voices and she listened for a moment. Daryl was asking Glenn if he'd seen Merle, and she felt the anxiousness tighten in her stomach again.

"He said sorry yet? 'cause he is, ya know," she heard Daryl say, and she moved quickly to the door, pushing it open. She saw Daryl stood hesitantly to the front of Glenn, his crossbow held loosely in his hands.

She watched as Glenn looked away from him, saying nothing, just looking down at the thick chains in his hands. She couldn't help the burst of irritation almost tingle across her skin.

"I'm gonna make him make this all right," Daryl leaned in further and nodded his head, his eyes darting from Glenn's to widen momentarily as he saw her stood silently there. "Just needs to be a little forgiveness is all."

She stepped out into the sunlight and saw Glenn glance across at her quickly.

"Oh hey, Carol." Glenn threw her a cautious look, before turning from her and starting to loop the chain through one side of a pair of brown rusted metal gates.

"Daryl's right you know," she said, watching as he glanced back at her. "You need to remember that." She found she couldn't help but stare at him sharply, seeing the flash of regret and embarrassment shift across his dark sullen eyes.

Daryl huffed as he pulled the crossbow onto his back, his hand pulling at the strap. He glanced at Glenn frowning a little, then his eyes fell on hers, and he sighed before brushing his way past the younger man, his eyes narrowing as he stepped across to her. He nodded at her and she knew that was her cue to follow him. Their feet matched step as they walked across the concrete.

"What was that about?" Daryl asked.

"Nothing really. Glenn just needs to make a few allowances."

Daryl looked at her sharply, and she pursed her lips, refusing to say no more, watching as he shrugged. He bit at his thumbnail worriedly, "You ain't seen Merle anywhere?"

They walked towards the fences, and Carol watched as a few walkers surged towards them as they approached, hands gripping at the metal links in the fencing. She turned to him, "No, not since last night, he was taking watch. I was hoping he was with you."

"Ain't seen him all morning," Daryl frowned.

"Daryl, I'm worried," she said suddenly, knowing that was starting to feel like an understatement.

He looked at her, chewing his lip. "Me too. C'mon, he's gotta be round here somewhere, the big dumbass."

They made their way across the prison grounds, stopping when they come to the steps that led up to the workshop. She followed behind him as he pulled the chain linked gate open, pausing when she saw Rick running across towards them, his boots smacking loudly at the concrete as he called out to them. Daryl turned so quickly he bumped into her, and he mumbled an apology before brushing past her.

Rick stood at the bottom of the steps, his hand catching out and resting at the gun at his waist. His eyes were wide and unblinking, "I can't find Merle or Michonne."

...

"He was here," Daryl said as he knelt with one knee on the floor, his eyes scanning the ground about him. He saw a small bundle of fabric and he snatched it up, getting to his feet. Turning it over in his hands, he let the fabric unravel, looking at Rick questioningly as he held up a grimy pillowcase in his hand.

"I changed my mind. Couldn't go through with it," Rick rubbed at his face tiredly.

"And ya didn't think to tell my brother that?" Daryl rounded on Rick, trying to hold his anger in check and failing. Carol watched as Rick took a step back from the glowering man, the fingers of one hand digging into the belt at his waist.

"I didn't think your brother would go off on his own."

Carol sighed, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten. "You should know him better that that, Rick."

Rick nodded curtly, "I tried-"

"You gave him little fuckin' chance!" Daryl shouted as he paced across the floor, holding the pillowcase in his hand. He looked at it in disgust, before balling it up and throwing at the wall. "Shit!" He stopped pacing and stood glaring heatedly at the sheriff, his eyes blazing from beneath his fringe. "Givin' my brother the idea...you knew what he'd do. If anything happens to him-it's on you, Rick."

"I tried to find him, I was going to tell him the plan had changed," Rick hesitantly took a step nearer, reaching out his hand, trying to placate him.

"Didn't look fuckin' hard enough, did ya?" Daryl spat back, shaking his head. "It don't matter. I'm going after him. Gonna bring my brother back. Michonne too."

"I'm coming with you, Daryl," she said softly. Her heart clamored uneasily in her chest and she couldn't ignore the anxiousness that spread through her. She had felt like he was saying goodbye the night before, and now knowing what had happened, she was sure of it. There wasn't any way she could let that just happen. There were too many questions between them and just not enough time to find any answers. She swallowed against the tears that threatened, refusing to allow them any grace. "I'm not staying here, not while they are out there."

Daryl grunted, and she saw the irritation flash across his eyes, the way his jaw clenched tightly. "Ya gonna need a weapon," he answered sharply, glancing at her and she was suddenly conscious of the fact that she didn't have so much as her knife strapped to her waist.

Rick sighed audibly, "I'll come with you."

"I think you've done enough Rick," Carol said as she watched Daryl push past him. She gave him one last tight look before she walked out of the room.

…

"Gonna be quicker if we take the bike," Daryl said as he pulled the heavy duffel bag onto the table top.

Carol leaned against the table opposite him, her hands grasping the edge tightly. "I spoke to Merle last night."

He looked across to her, "What did he say?"

She shrugged sadly, "He wouldn't listen."

Daryl scoffed as he reached into the bag, his hands pausing over the weapons that lay inside. "Sounds 'bout like him." He nudged at her hand gently and she looked at him, her eyes dropping as she saw the pistol in his hand. She gave him a small tight lipped smile and took the gun off him, slipping it into her belt.

"We'll find him Carol," he said quietly, and she couldn't help the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. She rubbed at her face, hoping that he hadn't seen, but the soft little look he gave her told her that he had. "He's a tough son of a bitch," he paused, glancing away from her quickly, but not before she saw the pain etched on his face. Her heart twisted in her chest and flew out to him, sympathizing and knowing how he must be feeling.

She saw a knife in the duffel bag, still in its sheath and she took it, fastening it quickly to the belt at her waist. Her own knife was back in her cell, but she didn't want to spare the precious time going back to retrieve it. She buttoned her shirt up and tucked it under the knife, the bulk of the weapon feeling comfortable and reassuring at her hip.

Daryl took a handgun for himself and glanced back at her, waiting for her to follow as he strode impatiently through to the outer door of the prison. Stepping out into the sunlight, he dragged the crossbow off his back as they approached the bike. He didn't look at her as he secured the crossbow to the front, instead he threw one leg over the saddle and waited for her.

She took a deep breath and climbed on behind him, watching as he shouted to Carl to open the gates. The bike thundered into life, and she slipped her arms around his waist, holding onto him tightly as they roared out of the prison grounds.

...


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: As always, I do not own The Walking Dead, nor Merle Dixon.**

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The car lurched forward slowly and Merle glanced across to Michonne. Her gaze was tight and focused, facing the road determinedly and not even so much as blinking, but he could see the tell tale signs of strain by the way her eyes narrowed slightly, the way her lips parted minutely as she tried to ignore the pounding against the roof and the sides of the car. The thud of numerous hands slapping and clawing and the occasional slam of a body hitting the cars frame echoed dully inside, and as he looked away from her to the road in front, he couldn't help but chuckle.

They were surrounded by the undead, the car idling noisily and the loud music blaring from the stereo herding all the undead assholes along with them. He'd planned to do this alone and he still felt a tick of irritation that she had demanded to come along with him. He wasn't stupid. She'd kept at him, needling him-trying to find a weakness and when she'd found it, she'd fucking pounced, much to his ire and disgust.

He glanced at her again, watching as her head turned slowly towards him. He had to speak up so that she could hear him over the loud noise blasting through the car. "You got the plan now, right?" he asked.

She inclined her head briefly, "I got the plan."

"Fuck it up an' you're on your own. You got that?" He saw her nod her head again slowly, and he gave her a small tight lipped smile. "Not too late to back out."

"I'm not going to back out. I got the plan, Merle," she repeated slowly, and he watched as her eyes glowered at him warningly.

"Good." He rested his prosthetic arm across the steering wheel as the car slowly coasted along, and swatted at his forehead with his hand. He wondered how exactly this was going to go down. He was going to take out as many Woodbury bastards as he could, and of course, the Governor. Might even be easier with Michonne out at his back, covering his ass.

He sighed and tugged the handgun from the waist of his pants. He leaned forward a little, reaching across and nudging her shoulder with it, smirking as she stared at the gun wide eyed. He prodded her with it again, "Take it, ya gonna need it," he rasped harshly.

"I don't need a gun."

"Ain't gonna offer again. I said take it. You gonna need it if shit goes down an' you go get yer ass corned. No big assed sword gonna save you in a tight spot."

She reluctantly palmed the gun from him, slipping it at her own waistband.

Merle huffed at the rigid little expression on her face and how she turned to stare out of the passenger window at the biters. She jumped a little when he slowed the car down again and one of them slapped at the window, dirty ragged fingers trying to slip through the slight gap. He couldn't help but laugh, "He likes ya," he grinned widely.

Michonne narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head.

"Ain't long now Michonne," he stared at the road, suddenly swallowing at the thick lump forming in his throat. His heart started to beat a tattoo in his chest and as he stiffened in his seat, leaning forward, he said abruptly, "We're here."

She reached across to the back seat and dragged out his rifle, placing it next to him. Her hand swatted at the gun at her waist, her eyes drifting to the katana propped next to her. Her fingers slid across the scabbard and she gripped it tightly, alertness wired into her lithe frame, watching his every move.

"Now!" he shouted as he rammed his door open, his eyes sweeping across to her, seeing that her door was thrown wide open. He grabbed at the rifle and threw himself out, rolling across the thick grass. Taking a second, he glanced back across to her, watching as she jumped to her feet and strode quickly over to him, graceful as a cat.

He nodded to her, gesturing with one finger to the buildings to their front. His eyes drifted past her, and he watched as the car rolled to a slowing stop, the biters herding all around it. He ran with the rifle gripped tight in his hand, listening as the loud music faded behind them, the nimble boot tread as Michonne ran alongside him.

He paused at a doorway, the metal twisted and gaping, and he ushered her away, gesturing again with his hand. She stared at him and mouthed quietly, _'Are you sure?'_ and he nodded at her impatiently, waiting until she moved out of sight before he grasped the door with his hand and thrust himself into the semi-darkness.

The building was large, dimly lit by a few cracked windows with dirt smeared panes, the sudden heavy musty smell acrid in his nostrils. His eyes roamed quickly as he ran, noting the position of the windows, viable entrances and exits. Pausing at one window, he shouldered the rifle, watching as he saw two wannabe Woodbury soldiers pass his line of vision. He peered awkwardly through the scope, his eyes tightening in concentration and he fired two quick shots, one taking a man down with a head shot, the next taking the other in the shoulder, winging him and making him land in a tumble of arms and legs in the deep grass.

Merle didn't even think, he just lunged for the next window, peering intently through his sights, popping two more precise bullets into another two men, his mouth fixing into a determined fine line as he saw those hit the ground heavily. Undead came surging through the grass, and he saw them eagerly twist towards the bodies on the floor. He watched as Michonne crept through the thick long grass behind them, saw as she took down a man quickly with her sword, before ducking under cover again.

He ignored the anguished cries of men and bullets, shut out the rending sound of growling biters as he raced back across to the first window.

Taking sight again, he peered through the scope, popping more bullets into the Governors men. He allowed himself a grim satisfaction as he watched those men die-they didn't deserve pity, they didn't even deserve any more thought, and he dismissed them as if they were nothing more than a splatted bug. He caught sight of Michonne, briefly saw the frustrated expression on her face as she stood back some distance behind a group of undead.

His breath caught suddenly and tightly in his throat as he saw Martinez, saw his old comrade in arms look across towards where he was hidden. He swallowed thickly, sensing that time was speeding up and he was getting shit out of time.

Then he saw _him_.

He felt a thrill of hatred and loathing flow through him as he saw the Governor stood there, pistol in hand, shooting at the undead that swarmed at them. Merle felt his skin prickle with heated anticipation and he swiveled the rifle, adjusting the sights with his hand before taking a measured gaze. But just as he pressed the trigger, a youth-_Ben_ he suddenly remembered the kids name, stood to the front of the Governor, and the bullet meant for him, arced into the young mans throat, spraying blood thickly. The Governors gaze shifted abruptly to where he was hidden and as Merle pulled back from the window, he cursed his fucking shitty luck.

He let the rifle lean against his prosthesis while he hurriedly swatted at the sweat on his brow, his skin feeling damp and on fire. Pressing the butt of the rifle firmly to his cheek again, he readied himself for another volley, and was so focused that he didn't notice the biter until it was practically on top of him. He twisted out of its grasp, its fingers narrowly missing tearing at the skin of his good arm, and he pushed back at it hurriedly with his prosthesis before raising his arm and trying to impale it with his blade. But the biter was suddenly looming in too close again and he angrily sliced at it with his bayonet, the blade spraying thick semi-congealed blood. It surged back at him, pushing and pressing him forwards and as he tried to dodge it, its hands were clawing frenziedly at his arms and they were both tumbling out of the doorway, landing heavily in the dirt.

He managed to twist out of its way and plunge his blade through its soft skull, so focused that he didn't see or hear Martinez and the Woodbury men surround him until he felt a rifle butt smack him squarely in the temple. He fell heavily to the ground, trying to curl himself into a ball as he felt a myriad of boots and gun butts kicking and smacking at him viciously. One booted foot caught him squarely in the face and he felt the hot blazing pain as his nose and lip bust, the warmth of his own blood flowing across his chin and as he groaned, he tasted the metallic tang as it filled his mouth. More blows reigned over him and he brought his arms up desperately trying to shield his head. He tried to roll away but he was outnumbered, and as he felt the pain explode all over his body he ached for himself in a different way. It couldn't possibly fucking end like _this_.

He heard a voice in the distance yell angrily, "Leave him, he's mine," and as hurt as he was, an icy chill coursed insidiously throughout him, and for a split second he wondered what exactly the fuck it was. It was something he'd never really known before, and as he felt himself being yanked up roughly to his feet, felt an iron-like arm catch and wrap around his neck painfully- squeezing the breath from his throat, he found he could suddenly give name to what it was. Fear.

He was being dragged back into the building and he struggled, but the arm about his throat tightened the more he fought. His vision spun around before his eyes and then he was pushed hard to the floor and he lay there for a moment gasping for breath, his hand clawing at his throat. He stared up, then felt that familiar chill course through him as he saw Philip Blake stood watching him with that one hateful eye, the patch over his other making him appear almost psychotic. Merle watched him warily then yelped in pain as the Governor kicked at him, his boot smacking viciously into his already battered and bruised body.

He twisted on the ground and raised his prosthetic arm defiantly, lashing out but missing as the Governor quickly side stepped, and Merle spat a blood cursed oath as the other man raised his foot and stamped heavily on his arm, just above the metal of his prosthesis. He watched wide eyed as the boot was raised again and he managed to pull his arm back quickly, cradling it against his pounding chest.

Blake stood watching him with a cold dead eye and Merle struggled for breath, grimacing and closing his eyes briefly to the pain that wracked his body. He didn't think it was possible to hurt so badly in so many fucking places, but it did. He shuffled almost pathetically across the floor, his eyes flickering open and meeting the other mans intense blazing gaze. Raising himself shakily on his prosthetic arm, he tried to push himself up, falling back to the ground panting with exhaustion. He thought quickly of Daryl, of Michonne, wondering if this was really going to be it, and was that woman right-would his own brother even fucking miss him if he died right here, right now. The memory sent a bolt of anger through him and he pushed himself up again, his eyes widening in surprise as Blake rushed at him, scooping him up by a tight fisted grasp on his shirt collar, pulling him roughly to his feet. The mans hand was tight on his throat again, squeezing viciously and trying to choke the life out from him, and in desperation he curled his hand into a fist and thrust his left arm out, trying to gain momentum and push this damned fucking asshole the hell away from him.

He yelled out in pain as the Governor leaned forward and bit at him, he felt the pain spasm feverishly through him as he felt sharp teeth bite through his hand. In horror and revulsion he saw his own blood spill glistening vividly red down the Governors chin and he snapped his hand back roughly as the other man gaped at him, almost smiling, before turning to the side and spitting the blood out of his mouth. The hand at his throat tightened again, and pain exploded unexpectedly as Blake suddenly thrust his head at him, the hardness of his skull connecting solidly with his face. Merle felt the darkness return to his vision, thickly dimming his senses. His whole body burned and throbbed and as he was suddenly thrown back to the ground, his back hitting the wooden flooring solidly- he wondered if it would just be easier to give up now. He'd never amounted to anything in the whole of his damned shitty life, why would his end be any fucking different. Hell, perhaps he even deserved to die like this. Die like a fucking fool. Michonne was right. Wasn't ever going to be anyone to mourn his damned miserable hide.

He lay on the ground panting, his twisted and battered body refusing to listen to him as he willed himself to move. He felt like a fish caught and drowning in the air, his breath tight and his throat raw and hot, achingly refusing to listen to his own body's commands.

His gaze was blurring as he glanced up at the man towering over him with pistol in hand, the lethal black eye of the gun pointing at him and he blinked rapidly against the lethargy that coursed through his body, the feel of his own blood thickly cloying his skin. His voice broke in his mouth, hissing twistedly through his tortured throat, "I ain't gonna beg. I ain't begging you." The sound was rasping and painfully remote to his ears and he smiled defiantly, blinking his eyes to the vision of death stood darkly above.

Distantly he heard a woman's voice breath,"It's over, Philip," and Merle thought that he knew that voice, but it hurt too much to think and so he ignored it, choosing instead to wait for the inevitable end.

"Is that so?" Blake answered back. There was a loud retort and he felt white hot pain scorch through him as the bullet hit him, pinning him back to the floor. Another loud shot rang out and he felt a sudden heaviness on his chest and he closed his eyes as he felt the light splinter darkly before him.

...


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing of The Walking Dead.**

_a/n. Have been toying with the idea of having another persons pov in this story now and after a lot of deliberation, I've decided to try with Michonne. I have been fascinated with the differences with her in both the comics, and TV series. I have never really written her before, and I am really hoping that she comes across as okay. Mostly for this fic I write Merle's and Carol's pov, occasionally Daryl's, because to be honest-it is bad enough having one Dixon running constantly amok in my head, let alone two._

_A big thank you to all those that are still with me in this little tale. Thank you!_

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Michonne was crouched in the long grass, watching with sheer frustration as she saw Merle tumble out of the barn tussling with a walker. She was about to step out and go to his aid, when she saw several men from Woodbury, two that she recognized; Martinez and the hulking man at his side, Shumpert. Crouching back down and glancing quickly to her side at the man she had slain-his decapitated head lay several feet away from her, she gripped her sword tightly, holding it down amongst the thick vegetation that concealed her. She didn't need the brightness of the sun reflecting off the bright blade to reveal her location.

She hissed as she saw those men beating down on the helpless man at their feet, watched as his arms curled around his head protectively, and she felt a glimmer of rage and desperation course through her. Biting it down, she held herself back guardedly, knowing that she was absolutely powerless to do anything, and there was no point at all to the both of them going down before the Governor showed himself. Glowering largely to herself, she watched...and then-there he was, the Governor, and he was dragging the older Dixon brother to his feet and into the building, his arm a choke hold against the shorter mans throat.

Beads of perspiration run down her cheek and she wiped at her face with the back of her glove. A growl to her left made her glance quickly away, and she watched as a walker turned and snuffed its head in her direction. Martinez was still stood to the outside of the building, and she felt her lip curl when she heard his easy laughter as he joked with the others. Glancing irritably to her side, she listened as the groan of the walker got nearer, the shuffling gait of its body as the grass whipped and whispered against it loud to her ears as it stumbled nearer. Michonne frustratedly tore her gaze away from the men and she slid through the undergrowth carefully, before slowly thrusting her blade through its head. She paused for a moment before pulling the blade free, catching at the corpse with one hand, easing its fall to the ground. She quietly stepped back from the body and resumed her crouching position, her eyes rigidly focused once again on the men.

Seconds stretched into minutes and she held her breath shallow, her lips parting slightly as she waited. Finally Martinez gestured to the others -Shumpert was straight to his side and she strained her ears trying to pick up their conversation, but the slight wind was in the wrong direction, blowing the sounds away from her.

Her body jerked suddenly at the abrupt and sharp sound of a single gun shot ringing out clearly into the air and she stared wide eyed at the building, startling again when she heard a second shot-but she held her position as she knelt in the dirt, the fronds of grass tickling and brushing against her arms as a breeze blew softly again. She was poised silently, katana still held in her gloved grasp tightly, her muscles bunched finely and glistening damply with sweat.

Voices reached towards her again and she almost rushed from her hiding place but she held herself back, concentrated on her breathing, keeping the breath shallow as she struggled to listen. She licked at her dry lips, glancing up at the sky, at the vivid unyielding heat of the day.

What could she do? She hadn't achieved what she had hoped, to kill Blake, the Governor. It stung at her that she had failed, but she couldn't have reached him in time, not with his men there. There were too many to take down and she would have been shot herself by the time she had revealed her position.

She didn't know what those gun shots meant, but she felt a faint dread curl and taunt her that Daryl's brother was already dead. And if he was...and she was the only one left, it would be on her to tell him, and she wasn't sure that she could do that- she just didn't know if she had the heart to tell the man that his brother had died. The rest of the prison group were still suspicious of her, she knew it, she saw it...but it didn't bother her so much. She would be suspicious of her, if she was them. But, it certainly wasn't going to endear her to those people if she returned to the prison as the bearer of ill news.

Time passed so sickeningly slow but she held her position, ignoring the trickle of sweat that ran under her clothing, insidiously inching down between her shoulder blades. She cast her eyes about her, before a sudden movement to the front drew her eyes, and she blinked rapidly in utter disbelief as she watched a blonde haired woman dragging a body from out of the building. The blonde woman's hands were hooked under the mans arms and she moved painfully slow and Michonne swallowed at the dryness in her mouth. Cautiously she crept forward to gain a better vantage. The breath hissed in her throat and caught tightly. _Andrea_.

She rose to her feet and stepped out, unmindful of the long grass as it whipped about her shins. Her eyes were fixed on the other woman, and she didn't even pause as she heard a walker stagger across to her. She turned her head minutely, and just flexed her arm out. The katana whispered invitingly in the breeze and she heard the dull thud as the body hit the earth. She shook her arm abruptly, waved the blood off the blade as she silently approached the other woman, and she stood there watching as Andrea collapsed heavily to her knees in the grass next to Merle.

Michonne caught her lip between her teeth as she took in the other woman's condition. She had no idea what she had been through, but as Andrea raised her head to look at her, she saw the thick angry red weals about her neck and arms-the slivers of duct tape clinging around her wrists flashing in the sunlight.

"Andrea," she said softly, leaning down quickly and reaching her hand out to touch at the woman's arm. Andrea turned to face her, and Michonne saw thick tears brimming in her blue eyes.

"I shot him. 'Chonne...I shot _him_," she sobbed.

"The Governor?" she asked tersely, glancing over Andrea's shoulder towards the building. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know. I think so," Andrea's head bobbed up to look at her, tears running thickly down her cheeks. She shook her head, "I had to hide-I was going back to check, but I heard Martinez. I couldn't..." she sobbed again, "I didn't want them to find me. I... didn't want them to take me back to Woodbury."

"Wouldn't have happened if you'd come with me when I said," Michonne remarked mildly, glancing away from her to the man laying prone on the ground. Her gaze slanted as she watched him intently. She quickly knelt down next to him, dropping her sword at her feet and raising her hand to press two fingers to the side of his throat. She was quiet for a moment, before glancing sharply at the woman kneeling opposite her. "He's not dead," she hissed suddenly.

Andrea looked at her wide eyed in shock, before her gaze tumbled back down to Merle. Michonne's hands ran swiftly across his body, pulling his blood soaked shirt back, her fingers trailing up to a bullet wound. His shoulder and arm was covered in blood, his grimed white vest red and sticky. She pulled her hand back, rubbing at the blood on her fingertips.

"Give me your shirt," she said quickly. "We have to stop the bleeding."

Andrea glanced away from Merle, and started tugging the jacket off her back. Her hands trembled when she undid the buttons on her shirt, and she peeled it off quickly, throwing it to Michonne.

"Hold him up," she gestured to Andrea, watching as the blonde woman shuffled nearer and lifted his head, partly raising his wounded shoulder off the ground. Michonne held the garment out, before pressing it against him, wrapping and tying the arms of the shirt tightly under his arm. She wiped at her forehead, leaving a little trail of blood across her skin.

Andrea's gaze traveled past her, and as Michonne glanced over her shoulder, she swore she could hear the steady rumble of a motorbike. She looked at Andrea questioningly, before scooping up her katana and pushing herself to her feet.

She felt her arm nudged and glancing at her side, she saw the gun in Andrea's hands, saw the slight tremble in her hands.

The roar of the engine got suddenly louder and she gripped the sword firmly, only to let it sag in relief in as she saw Daryl ride into the clearing, Carol perched on the back behind him. She was off the bike before he had stopped.

Daryl quickly dismounted and hurriedly kicked at the kickstand. "My brother? Michonne, ya seen him?" he called out to her.

Michonne walked towards him, letting the blade dangle loosely in her hands and she watched as Carol ran quickly past her, her head turning and her eyes briefly following the woman as she saw her fall to her knees, her sudden sobs ringing out abruptly in the quiet. She turned away, the sound aching and hurting at her ears.

"Daryl," she said as he paced quickly over to her. His eyes didn't meet hers, instead his gaze fluttered over her shoulder, "Your brother. He's hurt, but he is alive."

"Stupid fuckin' son of a bitch. He ain't never should have fuckin' gone," Daryl spat harshly, shoving his way past her and running towards his brother.

Michonne sighed and paced restlessly towards the barn. She needed to know if _he_ was dead. Andrea fell into step at her side, and the two of them walked in silence. She paused, glancing quickly at the other woman, before stepping inside. Her eyes squinted in the dimness of the interior, and she took a few steps forward, seeing the blood smeared over the dusty wooden floor.

"Where is he?" she questioned, her voice feeling tight in her throat.

Andrea stared about her, then gestured with one hand, "He _was_ here Michonne." She slapped at her face with her hand, catching a loose lock of hair before pushing it back impatiently. "Shit," she sighed. "Martinez...they must have taken him-"

"So, he _isn't_ dead?" Michonne grated out sharply. She clenched her hand and hit out at the wall. "You should have finished it, Andrea."

"I did! 'Chonne I'm sorry, but I thought he was dead."

"Are you going to tell Daryl that his brother nearly died for nothing?" Michonne shook her head, ignoring the sudden hurt on Andrea's face. It wasn't quite her fault, she had never been an equation in the plan, but she had gone and lost them yet another opportunity, and once again it seemed that the Governor had escaped.

She strode out of the building in frustration, pausing and letting herself drop to the ground. She cradled an arm about her knees, watching as Daryl reached out his hands and grasped at his brother, the tears shining brightly on his cheeks.

Michonne shut her eyes briefly, letting the cool breeze sooth and caress her warm skin.

"Walkers!" Andrea called out suddenly, and Michonne's eyes fluttered open as she pushed herself up to her feet. She strode forwards, her eyes catching sight of a few walkers stumbling into their direction. She glanced curtly at Daryl, "We need to move him. His blood is attracting them."

She didn't hear his mumbled reply, instead she focused on the walkers, and she let her anger tumble outwards as she held out the katana, let the blade soothe her emotions as she cut through the bodies, not even paying heed as they tumbled to the ground.

She shook the blood off her blade,"We need a vehicle," she said as Andrea lowered the gun in her hands.

Andrea nodded at her, "I'm on it."

Michonne watched as Andrea ran past the others, past the barn and she stood there with her blade at the ready, keeping watch for more walkers. She glanced towards Daryl and Carol, her eyes softening as she listened and watched them.

Carol had Merle's head resting on her knees, the tears falling from her eyes hitting his skin damply. She brushed her fingers across his face, her other hand cupping at his jaw.

"He's gonna be fine Carol. It'll be a'right," Daryl soothed softly, his voice hitching abruptly. His hand was splayed out, resting on his brothers chest, tears gleaming brightly in his eyes. He paused for a while, staring down at Merle before saying: "He's a tough fucker, ain't none gonna kill him, 'xcept him."

"I'm scared Daryl...he's in a bad way."

"Hershel will fix him up. That old man will do right by him."

She leaned across him. "Daryl...his hand."

Daryl hissed loudly, "Shit." He glanced away from her, and tugged the red cloth from his back pocket. He held it out to Carol, and she took it. She grasped Merle's wounded bleeding hand, frowning and biting at her lip tearfully as she wrapped the rag tightly around it.

Michonne turned her head quickly and walked away from them, watching for Andrea. She couldn't help at the feeling that she was invading on something private. Michonne sheathed the katana, and hooked her thumbs into her belt. She heard the steady thrum of an engine, and she walked across as Andrea pulled up in a SUV.

Andrea stood with one hand grasping the door, and she smiled wanly at Michonne. "One of the Governors, it was abandoned, just left there," she explained.

Michonne went across and helped Daryl get Merle to his feet, both their arms straining with the weight and effort as they held him up. His head slumped loosely on to his chest, and they grunted in exertion as they half dragged him to the car. Carol darted in front of them, pulling the back door open, and after a few attempts, they managed to get him onto the back seat. He hung there limply, and Carol opened the other door and climbed in beside him, tugging him down so his head lay in her lap.

She reached out and held his bloodied hand by the wrist, pulling it across to rest on his chest. She placed her own hand lightly over the top of his, her other arm curled around his head protectively. Glancing up, she offered Michonne a tearful smile, her eyes dropping back down to him as Michonne climbed into the drivers seat. Michonne waited a moment for Andrea to climb in beside her, then she started the car up.

She watched as Daryl climbed onto the bike, kicking the stand away and starting the bike up, revving it loudly. He glanced over his shoulder at them, nodding curtly before riding off.

They followed behind him in the car, and all Michonne could hear was the sound of faint tears emanating from behind her. She frowned at the sound-they reminded her of the tears she had shed what seemed so long ago, in another place, another time.

...

Daryl had ridden ahead, and she saw by the time she pulled the car into the prison, he must have forewarned the others as to what had happened. Rick was pacing at the gate, only stopping to step back as she drove up to the gates, waiting as he rushed forward and pulled it open. He slammed it quickly behind him, locking it, then raced across to where Daryl was stood impatiently as she pulled the car to an abrupt stop.

She flung her door open, her boots smacking the ground, and she watched as Rick and Daryl took hold of Merle and half carried, half dragged him inside, Carol several steps behind them. The prison door slammed shut, and she stood there alone sighing as she looked back towards the car.

Tiredly, she went back over to the car and rapped at the window, her eyes dark as Andrea woke hurriedly, her eyes sleep filled and groggy. She looked at Michonne and half smiled, but Michonne had already turned her back on the woman and was stepping towards the prison block, listening as she heard Andrea slam her own door shut.

"What happened out there?" Michonne questioned, turning slightly as the other woman came up along side.

Andrea looked at her in confusion, sighing as she tugged her hair and pushed it back behind her ear.

Michonne looked at her carefully, "You're hurt."

Andrea looked down at herself, staring at the bloodied weal marks that circled both her wrists. "What do you want me say Michonne? That you were right?" She laughed bitterly.

"I wasn't going to say that," she shrugged.

"You know I got away, from Woodbury. I managed to finally escape. I reached the prison, but he...Philip was behind me. He caught me and took me back. Handcuffed me to a chair." Andrea rubbed at her wrist, "He'd shot Milton, left him for dead and left us together in a room. I...I didn't think I was going to get away. I watched Milton turn, I watched him as he came for me. Philip did _that_."

Michonne faced her, her eyes suddenly wide, "Did Milton bite you?"

She shook her head, "No. I managed to put him down. I left and I knew where Philip was going, I couldn't leave things at that. I wanted him to pay, and well," she sighed again, and Michonne could hear the strain in her voice. "We all saw how that panned out."

"You did what you could Andrea. Merle probably wouldn't be here if you hadn't."

Andrea shrugged dejectedly. "I didn't do enough. Philip's probably out there now...I just don't know. It's all my fault."

"You should go and get some rest. I imagine the others will soon want to know what happened." Michonne felt her gaze soften a little as she looked at Andrea. The woman's hair was a filthy matted mess, she had tiredness grooved viciously under her eyes, and smearings of dried blood and dirt thick on her forehead and cheek. She leaned out to her, grasping her wrist delicately, not wishing to chafe the wounds on her arms. "Get some rest."

She watched as Andrea inclined her head slightly, then stepped warily towards the prison block, stopping to pause briefly and look back at her as she held the door open.

Michonne sighed and rubbed wearily at her arm, contemplating that rest was something she could do with herself, and as she turned to move she heard the door squeak outwards and watched as Rick stood there hesitantly.

"Andrea? What's she doing back?" he quizzed as he watched her walk towards him.

Michonne rolled her eyes. "Not now Rick."

He shifted on his feet, his blue eyes squinting back at her intensely. "The Governor?"

"Gone."

"But not dead?"

"I don't know," she breathed. Really she didn't want to do this now, she craved some solitude more than anything to try to process everything that had occurred. "How is Merle?"

Rick rubbed at his beard, his fingers scratching, "Hershel's with him now. So is Carol. They're patching him up. He took a hell of a beating-"

"He took that beating on your orders, Rick," she breathed quickly. "You know he let me go?"

"But you went with him anyway," he replied tersely.

Michonne nodded, "Yes. You're not the only one that wants the Governor dead."

Rick sighed quietly, his gaze hitting the ground. "I know. I wasn't going to go through with it-"

"But you did anyway.

"I can't make these choices, these decisions on my own any more Michonne. I can see this now."

She looked at him warily,"You shouldn't have too Rick. You have a whole group of people at your back."

He glanced up at her, grunting softly, "And you? Are you a part of this now, a part of our group?"

She smiled a little at his bluntness, "I suppose I am."

Rick stared at her for a while and Michonne let herself be scrutinized by his vivid blue eyes. She had nothing to hide, no reason to feel ashamed. He blinked at her, leaning back and rocking softly on his heels, and she almost smiled again.

"I...I'm going to check," he frowned at her, then gestured vaguely towards the fences and gate, "The perimeters."

Michonne nodded, tilting her head a little to the side as she watched him stride away, and she turned, spying a metal bench against the wall. She went over to it and sat, leaning her back tiredly against the chair and stretching the kinks out of her legs. The heels of her boots scraped against the concrete and she allowed herself a leisurely yawn, as she watched Rick down at the fence lines.

...

As she stepped into the cell block, the first thing she was aware of, really had _no_ choice but to listen to was the sheer amount of obscenities being thrown about a little too loudly. She stood with her hand itching towards the katana now resting against her back, and listening, she let herself marginally relax as she recognized the sound of a very angry and now fully awake Dixon.

Her gaze drifted across to where Beth sat at a table with the baby tight in her arms, she saw her blue eyes wide open in alarm, her sister sat next to her gripping a bottle full of baby formula a little too tightly. Michonne let her eyes travel across the room, stopping as she saw Carol stood in the entrance of the cell, her arms banded around herself.

"Mother fuckers, ya ain't gettin' it!"

She frowned and feeling the curiosity bite at her a little, she hastened across to the cell, bumping her arm against the other woman's. "Well, he's awake now," Carol said raising her eyebrows and glancing at her.

Michonne leaned next to her and peered into the room.

Daryl was leaning over his brother, trying to restrain him as Merle fought against him, while Hershel was sat back as far as he could on the chair. He was trying to unbuckle the straps of Merle's prosthetic arm.

"Oh no, ole man, you ain't gonna fuckin' have it."

Hershel was jostled in his seat as Merle attempted to pull his arm back, and Michonne could already see red spotting through the bandages wrapped tightly about his bare arm and shoulder.

"Son, we have to remove it," Hershel insisted and she thought she could hear the weariness creep into the older mans voice.

"Listen to him brother, for fuck's sake," Daryl hissed. "Just quit this shit already. Jesus. You can have it back."

"When? Huh. I ain't givin' it up," Merle rasped thickly, "Y'all think it's funny?"

Daryl spat back, "Ain't none think it funny Merle. Fuckin' stop this, or I swear I'm gonna go kick your fuckin' ass when you get out of here. Fuckin' idiot."

"Since when you been gone an' grown some man balls, huh boy?"

Daryl huffed loudly, and gripped his brothers arm tightly. "Since you went out like a dumbass and got your stupid fuckin' hide all beat up to shit."

Hershel finally undid the buckles and before Merle could react, he slipped it off his arm and gestured to Carol. She brushed past Michonne and took the metal contraption in her arms, standing back and out of the way. Hershel mouthed a silent 'thank you', rubbing his hand over his face, before hobbling back into the cell.

"Cock sucking bastard!" Merle wrenched his arm from Daryl's grip, grunting loudly and suddenly in pain.

Daryl stepped back a pace glowering, "Watch your mouth, ya fuckin' jackass." He glanced across to Michonne and frowned, giving her a small nod, then he took his place next to his brother, leaning over him, and placing his hand on his unhurt shoulder. "Hershel gonna have to look at that again, ya idiot. Ya ain't ever gonna learn, bro."

Merle grunted in reply, and Michonne watched as Hershel raised his hand to his shoulder, saw the way that Merle flinched back from him.

"Anything I can do?" she asked, seeing the sudden spiteful glare the older Dixon shot her.

"No, we're good, thank you Michonne," Hershel replied carefully, not taking his eyes off the man laying on the bunk. Daryl's hand tightened on his brothers shoulder, and Michonne turned from the cell, glancing across to Carol. "Good luck with that _one_," she said.

She was halfway across to her cell, when she heard Hershel call out, "Carol? I'm going to need your assistance with his hand." And Michonne found that she couldn't quite help at the small smile that tugged at her lips. As she sat on her bunk, tugging her boots off, she mused that for some it was going to be a long night.

...


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Been fighting the most awful writers block with this chapter-despite having nearly fully written the next two. I have precious little in the way of medical knowledge, and have spent some time with google, lol. I'd like to say thank you to ArcheryLefty for advice also, it helped, thank you._

_I would like to thank everyone for the reviews, follows and favorites. As always, it means so so much._

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Merle woke in the thin morning light, panic gripping as he flailed on his bunk. His dreams had been dark, filled with blood, and bullets and one eyed devils. His chest felt tight, he ached like a goddamned bitch, and for one terrifying moment he thought he was back on that fucking rooftop and he was sawing through his hand again. He couldn't move his arm, and for a moment...he felt terrified that he didn't actually _have_ an arm, and blindly and fumbling he reached across his chest, his bandaged hand thumping against the bindings on his stump painfully.

Sweat trickled down his face, stinging and he bit down the cry that pushed fearfully through his lungs, swallowing thickly. His neck was raw and burning, felt like it was on fire.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a soft hand flutter coolly across his forehead, he choked back the sob when a shadow loomed largely over him, and he willed and urged his eyes to open, trying to steady the breath as it whistled through his tortured throat.

The hand at his forehead moved and brushed through his hair, fingers softly grazing his scalp. He felt the side of his bunk dip down, felt someone lean against him, then a warm dampness hitting his cheek. He tried to push back with his hand despite the pain, but his movement was quelled, a soft cool hand on his wrist, firm but gentle, and then he heard her calling his name.

He gazed about unfocused for a moment, frowning and trying to remember where the fuck he was. The last thing he really remembered was Blake looming over him like a goddamned apparition of death. He struggled to rise, only to flail a little on the bunk as pain throbbed throughout him. "Where the fuck am I?" he croaked weakly, and his voice was so light he wasn't sure if he'd asked the question or if it was just in his mind.

"Merle, you're having a nightmare," Carol's voice trembled a little as she moved away from him, but her grip on his wrist tightened slightly. "I couldn't wake you."

He shifted himself on the bed again, gritting his teeth at the throbbing in his shoulder, "Fuckin' fuck," he hissed painfully as he glanced up at her in the dim light. He blinked several times, trying to see her through the fading memories of his dream. His eyes blurred then focused, and he suddenly saw her clearly and he felt panicked to see tears on her face. His voice choked hoarsely in his throat, "Whatcha cryin' for?"

"You. You could have died. Again." Her eyes on his were soft and full of something he didn't want to acknowledge, and he half wondered if it was pity he saw there. Her hand moved away from his arm, and she leaned across to her side, grasping something in her hand.

Merle shuffled on the bunk and he pushed himself up on his elbows, stifling back a grunt of pain, and as he stared he saw a bottle of water in her hand. She flipped the lid off and held it out to him, frowning at his hand. Leaning closer to him, she held the bottle to his lips.

He glared at her, feebly trying to push her away, "Ain't no baby, I don't need you-"

"Just shut up and drink Merle," she retorted quickly.

He sneered a little, before allowing her to tip the bottle to his lips, and he took a few long sips of the water. The coolness of the liquid soothed his aching throat. He froze when she took the bottle from him, wiping at his wet lips and chin with her fingers. He wanted to curse and push her away, but then he saw the softness in her blue eyes, the way she wanly smiled back at him, and he felt the insult dry and sour on his tongue. His heart did that stupid little flutter and before he could stop himself, he held his hand up to her face, rubbed at the tears with his tip of his thumb. She swallowed suddenly, her eyes briefly fluttering shut at his touch and he couldn't help the small growl cough out abruptly into his throat.

"Is the pain bad?" she asked quickly, looking at him with concern.

"What the fuck you think?" he spat.

She narrowed her eyes at him for that, and leaning across to where the bottle had been, she took a small vial of tablets. "Stupid question, I know. Stick your tongue out."

"An' where do ya want me to stick it? Got an idea, but Christ, I didn't know you were being so goddamned playful." He coughed again at the rawness of his throat. "Yer gonna kill an injured man like me, you know?"

"Just do it," she smirked suddenly, and Merle felt his heart lighten a little at that look. He grimaced, but did as he was told, and she popped a tablet on his tongue, letting him wash it back down with the water.

He glanced across the little cell, his eyes traveling back to her, narrowing when he spied a blanket pooled on the floor next to the chair she was sat in. She looked weary with fatigue, dark smudges under her eyes. "How long you been here, babysitting my ass?"

"I don't know. Twenty-four hours, maybe more, maybe less. Hershel thought it was best that someone sat with you, to keep an eye on you. Daryl should be here soon-we've been taking it in turns to watch over your 'ass'," she glanced at him almost apologetically.

"Ain't you slept, woman?"

Carol laughed a little, "Don't you know that sleep is over-rated?" She saw him raising his bandaged hand and staring at it. "You got bit. That animal, the Governor he bit you," her breath hitched a little in her chest. "Hershel...we worked on you most of that night. You were in a bad way. _Why_ did you go, Merle?"

Merle glanced from his hand to her, "You wouldn't understand, an' I ain't in the mood for explaining shit." He wondered if she was going to snap back at him, retaliate, beg him for an answer-he half expected it, but he saw with surprise that she just looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read, and it annoyed the shit out of him.

He huffed as he tried to make himself more comfortable on the bunk. He ached badly, and he doubted he would be able to go back to sleep, and he wasn't so sure if he wanted to if he could. Didn't need another goddamned nightmare, he'd thought he was over all that crap. He glanced as her hand reached out and lay resting limply on the edge of his bunk, her fingers splayed out and as he looked down, he saw the dried blood on her cuticles, saw the blood under her fingernails. _His blood._ He wondered how long she had been with Hershel trying to fix his stupid fucking body.

"Don't need none watching over me," he growled irritably, watching as her fingers twisted in his blanket.

"Of course you don't," she replied, "I wouldn't expect anything different of you Merle, but for the moment, you are kind of stuck with it." Her head turned away from him to glance past the cell door, and she rose stiffly out from her seat, looking and smiling a little as Daryl thumped his way to the cell. He stood there glowering.

"Asshole woken up yet?" he questioned.

"Mhm," she answered moving towards the doorway. Her hand rested briefly on Daryl's shoulder and Merle watched his brother intently, and he found he couldn't help the little spear of jealousy as Daryl glanced back at her.

"Crawled out from Rick's ass long enough to think about your brother, huh?"

Daryl stepped into the cell, pausing before sitting on the seat that Carol had vacated. "Shut it, Merle," he warned. "I been watching your pussy ass, same as her. Ain't seen Rick all morning."

"Play nice you two," Carol said from the doorway.

Merle looked up and watched her. She had one hand curled around the bars of his cell and her gaze was fixed on his. She was smiling at him and suddenly the cell felt too large and he felt too goddamned fucking small lying there helpless and beat all up to crap. He watched as she moved away, stared at the empty space at the doorway, half hoping she would find a reason to come back and half hoping that she wouldn't.

"What the hell brother? You ain't listened to a word I said," Daryl grated out dryly.

Merle glanced back at him, "What?"

"You must have gone knocked yer damned thick skull," Daryl shook his head, watching Merle. "Reckon about same time you went and got your ass kicked."

"Fuck you Darlina," he said mildly.

…

He wasn't sure how long he had slept, laying there he felt like he was losing all goddamned track of time. Hershel had come to check his shoulder, to redress the bandages and to check on the bite on his hand. The old man had been full of concern, and Merle wondered again why these people would give a shit about him-they never had before. Maybe it was nothing more than concern because he was Daryl's brother, and they were tolerating him because of that.

He was vaguely aware that the old man was watching him intently. He felt his lip curl at the older mans gaze. "You done, ole man?"

"You need to rest that shoulder Merle, and I am afraid that it will be a while before you will be able to use your prosthesis. You won't be able to bear any extra weight on your shoulder. Not if you want to heal fully."

Merle huffed. Wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "How long? I need my fuckin' arm."

"A few weeks-"

"What the fuck? A few weeks?! An' what the _hell_ am I supposed to do in between? That ain't gonna happen. No shit."

"You rest, son. And you get better."

Merle shifted restlessly on his bunk, staring down at the hated bandages wrapping his stump. It made him feel even less of a man without his arm. Didn't anyone fucking realize that?

"You were lucky Merle. Lucky to be alive with that gunshot wound. I don't fully understand what happened with the Governor and his men, nor do I know what happened when you confronted him, but yes, you are lucky to be alive. Another inch or so, and that bullet would have hit an artery. You would have bled out. I have left antibiotics with you, you will need those in case of any infection with the bullet wound, and for that nasty bite on your hand."

He turned with the crutches rammed under his arms and he hobbled towards the doorway. "If you don't mind my saying so son, don't let your pride stand foolishly in the way of any help you are offered. You will need the help if you want to fully recover." He stared at him for a second longer then hobbled towards the doorway.

"Huh, Hershel." Merle felt the spit dry in his mouth. "I ain't said before, but huh...thank you man."

Hershel inclined his head as he smiled, then left.

…

Carol had come into his cell a few hours later, laden with several pillows and ignoring the frown he gave her, she moved behind him and started adjusting the pillow at his back. When he wouldn't move, she tugged at it several times tutting at him, so he begrudgingly rose slightly in the bed, wincing at the flare of pain in his shoulder.

She must have noticed or heard because her movement stilled and she asked him if he was alright. He didn't want her there fussing over him, and he couldn't trust himself to not just tell her to get the hell out, so he only grunted in reply. Her hand was brushing against his skin, and he couldn't help but tremble at her touch, his skin almost burning. Trying to ignore her and the turmoil the softness of her hand caused, he stared rigidly and firmly across his cell.

He flinched when he felt her hand graze against the scar beneath his shoulder blade, and he was drawn back to a moment, remembering Daryl as nothing more than an annoying high speed toddler, with dashing feet and even quicker hands dumping a whole bottle of their Pa's cheap bourbon into their mangy dogs drinking bowl out in the back yard. He had ran, his feet kicking over the bowl, dumping the contents and watching in fear and horror as the amber liquid seeped all across the sparse grass and hard dirt. He took the blame for it, said he'd wanted to know if dogs could get drunk like his Pa often was, and so he earned himself that scar from the beating of his fathers leather belt. It had been worth the pain to spare his brother, but the following day he'd been heartbroken to see the dog had gone.

"Merle?" she questioned softly, stepping around to his side. "Is that better now?"

He leaned back into the pillows, liking the fact that now he could see more instead of being flat on his back, his position was more upright and the pressure was eased off from his shoulder a little. He sighed to himself, not wanting to question the thought that things seemed better when she was near. "You need to quit your damn fussin'. I'm fine, woman," he rasped thickly.

She touched his shoulder lightly, "Get some rest. I'll check in on you later."

He was about to tell her that he didn't need her to keep on fucking checking in on him, but when he looked she was gone, and he was left alone again to mull over his thoughts.

...


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: Many thanks to ArcheryLefty for the help with pulling this chapter together, and as always, many thanks to everyone who is reading this fic._

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Merle waited a while restlessly before swinging his legs off the bed, and grunting after much cursing he managed to get himself to a sitting position. He ached every goddamned where, even the cut on his nose and lip smarted like an unruly bastard. His head pounded like shit, and his vision swayed before his eyes, but he was going to do this while he had the fucking chance to do it. It took another few moments before he felt his breathing return to normal, and he cast his eyes over his body, touching at the mass of hideous purple bruising over his chest and ribs with his bandaged hand. His head hung down and his eyes darted to the entrance of the cell, and he held his breath as he listened for activity beyond his cell doorway.

Satisfied he could hear nothing more than the usual sounds drifting through the prison block, he shifted his body to the edge of his bunk, his hand reaching out and shakily touching the edge of the mattress. It fucking annoyed him that he couldn't put much weight on his hand, it stung like a goddamned bitch, and his other arm was bound tightly in a sling cradled against his body.

He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and the blood danced and spotted merrily before his eyes. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his sight, even as his eyes spied the few meager possessions he owned bundled in the far corner. What he wanted right now, more than anything was a smoke. Well, if he was honest, he would have chosen something a little more stimulating, anything to cool his mind and numb the unrelenting pain. But there was nothing here other than goddamned cigarettes and that was if he could even find the damned things.

Merle pushed himself on stiff muscle cramped legs towards the corner of his cell, and rifled through the small neat stack of clothing that was there. He found a shirt and tugged at it, dislodging the clothing to the floor in a heap. Narrowing his eyes, he kicked at it bare footed in frustration.

He nearly chortled when he found the battered pack of cigarettes, his only unbound finger and thumb flipping the pack open, seeing the stale and somewhat bent cigarettes residing within. Smiling to himself he gingerly thrust the packet into the pocket of his pants, feeling thankful that he'd actually managed to keep those on. He didn't much like the fact that Hershel and Carol, and he groaned at the thought of _her_, had all to probably seen the scars marring down his back when they'd worked on his shoulder. And as much as that pissed him off, he was glad of his pants-he didn't much care for the idea of the old man gawking at his junk either.

His boots he found placed under his bunk and he dragged them out, ramming his feet into them, thankful for the fact that the laces were at least loosely tied. He glanced at the shirt and then down at his bare skin and shrugged. Even with the bruising and the bandages, he knew he didn't have such a bad physique, a little pale, a little too thin now but he didn't want to overly draw attention to himself-plus it was getting fucking _cold_, so he tried pulling the shirt on, only to curse in frustration at the sling impeding his attempt to dress.

It took a while to tug the sling from off his arm and from around his neck and he swore at one point that the damned thing was trying to throttle him like the Governor had done. He had to sit back down on his bunk as the pain tore raggedly through his shoulder, but he managed to get the fucking thing off, only to hiss in irritation at his new dilemma.

He couldn't really grip with the thick bandages on his hand, and it was damned hard trying to grip anything with this stupid assed two finger pinch grasp. He'd managed to get his injured shoulder and stump through one arm of the shirt sleeves, and the struggle was the other goddamned arm. In the end, he had to use his teeth and chin to wrangle the fucking thing on, and it had taken too much time. He was sweating and aching like a bitch, and as he glanced down at the buttons he thought, hell to it. Wasn't a chance he'd get those fastened.

Stepping out of his cell, he rested his head against the cool wall briefly, panting with effort. He groaned when he looked up and saw Carol marching her way hurriedly towards him, saw the worried expression on her face. He had no idea where the hell she had just sprung from, but he didn't want to be dealing with this crap right now.

"Merle?" She called out to him. "Where do you think you are going?"

"What'cha fuckin' think?" He breathed shallowly.

She ran a hand through her hair, her brow furrowing as she watched him. Her voice was full of concern, "You shouldn't be out of your bed. You should be resting."

He felt the hot flow of anger prickle him. "Get out'a my way, sugar. I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"No you won't Merle. And if you know what is good for you, you'll get your ass back in your cell."

He thrust his jaw out at her, "An' who the fuck do ya think you are? You ain't telling me what the shit I should do." He was mildly aware that they were attracting an audience, he could see Glenn pacing towards them, but he was getting downright pissed and he couldn't give two shits as to who was watching.

"I'd listen to her," Glenn said as he came up along side and stood next to Carol.

"Ain't none asked you for yer fuckin' opinion, Chinaman." He made to move past them, but Glenn blocked him, raising a hand warningly. "Get out'a my goddamned way, boy!" he glared.

"No. I mean, look at you." Glenn let his eyes travel across Merle's body, seeing the bruising and bandages through his shirt that was flapping open. "You look like crap."

Merle narrowed his eyes. He knew he looked like crap, but didn't need to hear some chink asshole tell him the obvious. He found that he couldn't help but say, "Fuck you." If he could have flipped the Asian punk the bird, he fucking well would have.

Carol paced quietly across to him, her hand catching out and touching at his wrist. "Merle please, let me take care of you."

He shook her hand off, watching as she bit at her lip. "No. I don't need yer pity." He heard Glenn sigh audibly and it angered him. "What is _with_ you people? I don't need any of your shit and I'm fucked if y'all gonna keep me like a goddamned prisoner," he sneered.

"Nobody is keeping you prisoner here, Merle," Glenn said quickly, "But she's right. Really you should be resting. Honestly, I don't know what point you're trying to prove."

"Ain't got no goddamned point to prove. Why can't you jus' leave me the hell alone?"

Glenn gawked at him stupidly. "You got shot, what like two, three days ago? I think you're being pig-headed and stupid Merle."

"You don't know shit 'bout me, Kim-chi. You don't know nothin'." Merle closed his eyes briefly to the sudden headache springing before his eyes.

He had never meant to come back, it hadn't been in his plan-he thought it would have been nothing more than a one way trip. It was never supposed to have turned out like it had. He wondered if he had failed because he'd stupidly let Michonne talk him around, let her keep on yammering at him until in the end it had been fucking easier to just cave into her. And that had been a first in itself-letting a bitch talk him around, and a _black_ one at that. But now he was back, and he was back less of a man than he had been before. He didn't want to see their hate anymore, see the weary acceptance that he was back and what shit it would cause. He was tired of it. And now it would be worse because he would have to rely on them, and he had never been big on that before. Never needed anyone but himself to sort his own way through his fucking shit.

Glenn stepped a pace nearer, "I know enough."

"This about Michonne? This 'bout the Governor? I went through with the plan. _Ricks_ fuckin' plan. That man didn't have the balls to follow his own goddamned idea through. An' what? You wanna look at me like I'm the goddamned devil? Boy, that devil is sitting on your ass, he ain't never left ya."

"This coming from you?" Glenn spat bitterly, "What you did to Maggie and me?"

Merle felt the headache settle firmly before his eyes, and he wondered at the sheer fucking pointlessness of it all. They would never accept him for what he had done, even now. It didn't matter for what reasons he had done it for. "I done worse boy. Alot worse. You need to nut up and grow the fuck up. Shit happens."

He didn't give them a second thought or glance as he shouldered his way past them.

...

Merle sat there in silence for a moment, enjoying the peace and solitude. He was finally on his own, wasn't nobody else around except a few biters hanging around at the fences. He glanced towards them and sneered. Stupid undead assholes, why wouldn't they just shut the hell up. Always with that constant fucking moaning and groaning...sighing at them irritably, he turned his head away, his gaze sweeping across the cluster of buildings, the watch tower. All he wanted was a few more damn peaceful moments before he had to go back to his cell. He closed his eyes, feeling the early evening chill, the cold dampness in the air.

His eyes snapped open as he heard the fence rattle.

_Just _

_one _

_more _

_goddamned _

_fucking _

_minute_

He shifted about on the bench restlessly, feeling the tightness start to wake in his shoulder, and he knew he should go back indoors before the tightness turned into that horrible sickening dull pounding ache that would surely keep him awake all damn night. But he wanted just a minute more before he'd have to go back inside and face their sickening pity and loathing.

He ached with the need for a cigarette, but the thought of trying to get them out of his pocket and then having to light the fucking thing put him off. The fencing rattled again, and as he heard those ever present grating moans he felt his heart tighten and his lungs freeze up. His blood pounded thickly at his temples-he could hear it throbbing in his ears painfully.

He glanced back towards the fences again, his eyes narrowing as he suddenly jumped to his feet. _Oh __by __god they were asking for it, and he was go__ing to__ damn well give it to them._

His boots thumped all the way down to the fences and he watched as a biter turned towards him, its vacant yellowed gaze roaming over to where he stood. He saw its ruined caved in nose snuffle for his scent, and he angrily lashed out at the fence with his foot, rattling it loudly.

"Ain't over," he hissed, "Ain't fuckin' over." He kicked at the fence again, his eyes almost burning as he watched them stagger eagerly over towards him. "Bastards. Ya dumb fuckin' fucks." He lashed out with his boot again, kicking at the fence. "Cock sucking bastards." A biter surged to his spot, and he saw its long withered fingers slip through the chain links, and he stepped so close to it that he could feel the snap of its teeth close to his face. "Yeah," he smirked, "C'mon, you ain't got the fuckin' balls to have a piece of me, fuckin' stupid piece of shit." He spat suddenly at it, watching curiously as his saliva dribbled down its pallid cheek and he smacked his hand at the fencing, his fingers gripping the linking and rattling it loudly. The biter twisted its head and gaped hungrily and Merle drew his hand back slowly, not noticing the blood starting to seep brightly through the bandages.

"You're dead, asshole." He pushed his shoulder to the fencing, grinning as the motion rippled and jolted the bodies the other side. He hit the fence hard again with his hand, "You're fuckin' dead!"

"Merle?"

He ignored the voice as it drifted in the air, instead he shook his head, panting as he raised his foot to kick the fencing again. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as his boot connected hard and he waited for the biters to follow him across as he paced angrily at the fence. He rested his head briefly against the metal links, ignoring the fingers that tried to claw at him and then he raised his head to stare at them, before slapping at them and the fence again with his bloodied hand.

"Dude? What the _hell_ are you doing?" Glenn called out, nearly tumbling over his own feet in his haste.

"Ain't over," Merle hissed. "Fuckers. It ain't never over."

Glenn took a few steps back, before turning and running back over to the cell block.

His head ached, felt crowded and jumbled, and all he could think of was these hated fucking things and how they needed to pay for every goddamned thing. He thought he saw Blake stood there amongst them, staring at him blackly with one glittering eye, and he hissed before wiping at his forehead, smearing cold dampness over his face. "You're fuckin' dead, you bastard!" He thumped at the fence angrily with his hand again.

"Merle!"

He turned slowly, thinking he could hear his brothers voice, but that _wasn't_ right. Daryl wasn't at Woodbury, he was at the prison with the rest of all those dumb fucks.

"Shit, Merle. Stop it brother!"

He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, pulling him around and he raised his hand and lashed out, feeling his fist connect. Pain flared hotly in his hand and he raised it again, only to have his arm grabbed at firmly. "Brother don't do this," a voice breathed at his ear. He felt his body go suddenly slack and he raised his head tiredly, trying to bring his eyes back into focus.

Daryl had his hands tightly on his shoulder, pinning him and holding him steady, while Glenn had hold of his arm. Merle tried to shake the Asian off his arm in disgust.

"What were you doing?" Glenn hissed as he finally let go of his arm.

Merle gazed at Daryl, swallowing several times before he could find his voice to answer,"I-I don't know," he rasped in confusion. He could see the tears brimming in his brothers eyes, and then his own eyes widened in sickening realization as he saw the red mark on Daryl's jaw.

"C'mon Merle, I'm gettin' your ass back inside. Shit," Daryl shook his head at Glenn, warning him away, before looping his arm across Merle's back. "C'mon brother."

Merle let Daryl lead him back inside. He felt tired and nauseous and he ached like a son of a bitch-his hand throbbed unrelentingly and as he raised it, he looked at the blood smeared bandage stupidly. He could feel the others gaze on him as he stumbled through the prison block but he wouldn't raise his head to stare back at them. He was back at his cell before he realized, and Daryl was easing him onto his bunk.

"Daryl," he said faintly, "Fuck. I'm sorry, little brother." He glanced down at the floor as he felt his brothers hand on his shoulder, gripping him gently.

Daryl looked at him and shrugged, "Ain't nothin' to be sorry 'bout Merle," he whispered. "Ye fucked ya hand up again, ya dumbass."

Merle huffed, then glanced up as he heard feet clatter into his cell. Carol was staring at him with a stricken expression. She stepped hastily into his cell and he watched as she touched at his brothers shoulder. Daryl looked at her and then nodded, before stepping back and standing in the doorway of his cell. Merle glanced as Carol watched him sadly, before sitting next to him. She placed a bottle of water and fresh bandages on the bed beside her.

"Oh Merle," she sighed quietly, "You stupid, stupid man." He saw the tears shining brightly in her eyes, watched as one trickled slowly down her cheek and he painfully raised his hand to swat at it. She caught his hand in her own and gently brought it down into her lap. "I need to change your dressings. You're not going to fight me on this, okay?"

He shook his head, watching warily as she peeled the sodden wrappings off. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and he leaned his back to the wall as she started to clean out the wound. It stung badly and he involuntarily clenched his fist at her, only for her to pause and slap lightly at him. He felt pressure on the wound and he glanced down, watching as she redressed it with fresh clean bandages.

"All done," she said quietly, and he went to pull his hand back, but was surprised when she caught it between both of hers, holding his hand in her lap. "You're lucky you didn't burst your stitches. Promise me... you won't do anything so stupid again, please?"

He shrugged, "Can't promise shit."

"Don't make me come in there and kick yer ass, bro," Daryl joked quietly from the doorway.

Merle huffed again, watching as Carol got up from his bed, scooping the soiled bandages and bottle in her hands. "Carol. Don't go," he asked quickly, feeling suddenly stupid for asking, and feeling even more fucking stupid for wanting her to stay. His heart thumped a little too quickly as she looked uncertainly across to Daryl and he saw his brother turn to her and nod, taking the soiled bandages out of her hands.

Carol sighed again, and then her eyes were seeking his out. She shook her head at him questioningly as she sat on the bunk next to him, "Why?" She didn't stop and wait for him to answer, though her eyes narrowed at him as she reached her hand out and touched at his cheek gently. "Don't do that again Merle," she warned tearfully.

He sat there hesitant and awkward, not really knowing what to do, and before he could change his mind, he leaned towards her and rested his forehead on her shoulder, closing his eyes. Her arm slipped about his back and he sighed against her throat, feeling her hand catch and rest lightly against the nape of his neck, her fingers trailing soothingly up and down his skin.

He moved to put his arm around her and winced in pain as the motion jostled his shoulder. He knew that she had felt it because she was pushing herself away from him and he sat there dumbly as she rose to her feet.

"I should go Merle. I think you've had enough excitement for one day." She smiled at him wanly, watching as he eased his body onto the bunk. With one hand she pulled the blanket over him, and as he felt the first drowsy edges of sleep take him, he didn't see that she watched over him for a long while, and he didn't see as she finally walked out of his cell with the tears still shining in her eyes.

...


End file.
